Yule Be Sorry
by PensievePrince
Summary: Hermione Granger learns to see Professor Snape in a different light, throughout her years at Hogwarts. SSHG, set in GoF through to DH and beyond. EWE. Rated M for language and smut. Spoilers for everything, naturally. Extremely canon compliant, with the exception of their relationship, and Snape surviving the book events.
1. Dance, Dance

**Yule Be Sorry**

**A/N: Hermione Granger learns to see Professor Snape in a different light, throughout her years at Hogwarts. SSHG, starting at Christmas during GoF, continues through OotP, HBP, DH and beyond. EWE. Rated M for language and smut. Spoilers for everything, naturally. Follows canon very closely (hopefully!), although probably a hideous mix of both book and film, with some different interpretations of events, depending on whichever bits float my boat and I can use for my own nefarious purposes, mwahaha! I have glossed over the details of some canon parts, unless I have specifically written about something different occurring. For example, when the Trio jump from a dragon's back into a lake, after Snape has just read in the paper about the Gringotts break-in that occurs in Deathly Hallows, I haven't described the break-in itself as it's presumed to have occurred according to the book/film and I thought it unnecessary, as you all know how the canon story goes, and no-one can write it better than JKR! Just so nobody thinks "Eh? How did they get from there to there?"**

**Nothing romantic occurs while Hermione is underage, for those of you of a sensitive disposition ;)**

**Currently 29 chapters finished and proof-read (about a million times!), so I think it's very nearly complete, just need to tie up the last chapter or so. I'm running out of steam a bit at 86 thousand words LOL. Please R&R, and thanks in advance!**

**Chapter One: Dance, Dance**

Hogwarts Castle had been naturally transformed into a winter wonderland; blankets of soft powdery snow laying across the grounds and covering the many rooves and spires. Everybody was gearing up for the Yule Ball - a little extra excitement to add to the prestige of hosting the Triwizard Tournament.

A live band was playing in the Great Hall, Hermione could hear the lead singer's voice warbling throatily away up the staircase about _something, something, Hippogriffs_, as she made her way down towards the party. She was nervous about making an appearance, unsure as to what the boys would think of her sudden transformation. Earlier Ginny had tried to reassure her that she looked stunning, but Hermione was on foreign territory when it came to dressing up to the nines.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, taking her time on the worn, uneven stone in her high heels, a tall, burly figure in a long red cloak stepped forward through the parting crowds.

"Hermy-own-ninny! You look very beautiful." Viktor Krum extended a meaty paw in her direction and she placed her hand into his, gave him a nervous smile, and followed him into the Hall.

* * *

Skulking along the edge of the room, Severus Snape stood stiffly near a table in the corner. He had no idea why he was even bothering to attend, but Albus had made himself very clear that all staff members were expected to turn out in a good show for their visitors. He hoped Igor Karkaroff didn't feel similarly obliged to put in an appearance - Snape had been doing a stellar job so far of avoiding the Durmstrang headmaster whenever possible. Their... _shared past_ made any such encounters rather awkward for him and quite frankly he just didn't have the motivation to spend any more time than necessary in his company. Karkaroff was a fool and a coward, and Snape had no interest whatsoever in whatever plans he was making for his immediate future since the re-emergence of the Dark Lord.

His thoughts on Karkaroff, Snape absentmindedly scratched at his left forearm through his tunic sleeve. Although the Dark Mark beneath wasn't currently troubling him, it was an uncomfortable reminder that change was afoot.

A bright flash of colour across the room caught his eye. Looking up towards the Entrance Hall he could see that Karkaroff's protégé Krum had arrived. And on his arm was no other than Potter's friend, the Granger girl. Snape frowned to himself, pondering the strange pair. Surely Granger couldn't genuinely be interested in the Quidditch player? He knew of her only what he saw in his Potions classes of course, plus the odd time she'd been conspicuously by Potter's side whenever certain events had occurred at the school over the past few years, but he thought he had a good enough idea of her character, he'd always prided himself on his ability to read others. An intelligent young witch, though possibly a bit socially inept. Not so different from himself in his younger years, he mused. Or even now in his mid-thirties, come to that. No, she couldn't possibly be romantically interested in Krum - the boy could barely string a sentence together, in either English or Bulgarian, after years of taking Bludgers to the head. Most likely she was using the meathead to obtain information in order to aid Potter in the tournament. _Almost Slytherin_, he thought approvingly.

Snape watched as the young couple made their way onto the dance floor and the Bulgarian put his arm on the girl's waist. Granger mirrored her partner. Snape thought back to the mousy little girl that had arrived at Hogwarts just a few years ago, and realised that she'd changed substantially. And not just her sudden glamourous makeover tonight! Potter still looked like a facsimile of his wretched arrogant father - all Snape ever saw when he looked at Harry was an image of James the Tormentor staring back at him. But the girl… It surprised him to realise just how… pretty… she had become. Quite grown up, he mused idly. Such pedestrian things were normally beneath his notice, although he keenly observed everything that occurred at the school.

Scanning back and forth across the Hall, habitually aware of his surroundings and on the lookout for anyone who might be getting up to something troublesome, his gaze passed again over the Durmstrang and Gryffindor couple who were twirling gently around amongst the other students. As Granger spun, her eyes suddenly met the professor's across the room; she beamed happily, and Snape felt a sharp jolt of something in the back of his brain before she continued her turn and disappeared into the crowd again. Blaming the shot of Firewhisky he'd downed hastily before his arrival at the Ball and furrowing his brow, Severus blankly contemplated for a second or two the flickering flame on the candle hovering by the wall next to him, then turned and strode away abruptly, effortlessly creating a path through the other partygoers with his determined stride as he exited the Great Hall through one of the doors at the back of the room.

* * *

Dancing awkwardly with Krum, Hermione was concentrating hard on not getting her feet stepped on, and tried to focus on the scenery around her to avoid getting dizzy. Mid-spin, her eyes suddenly met the impenetrable dark gaze of Professor Snape who was stood motionlessly by the wall, observing the room, and looking for all the world like a disapproving statue. Carried away with the dance, her mouth quirked in a smile before Krum spun her away and their eye contact broke. Snape looked awkward at such an event she thought - probably only there to enforce his usual brand of strict discipline and mirthlessness on the students. She thought he might be wearing a different tunic to his usual? Still clad in all black, with myriad buttons and cuffs, he had eschewed his billowing cloak for the evening and she was surprised to realise he actually cut a rather smart figure. Less bat-like than usual; he looked almost regal, and, dare she say it, even suave - like something out of a Jane Austen novel or a member of the nobility, although wizardkind had no such thing, she knew.

Flushing slightly at this new train of thought, Hermione hoped Viktor didn't notice, or would at least put it down to her current physical exertion. She and Ginny had shared a sneaky couple of Butterbeers before heading down from the dormitory to the dance to meet their dates too, so that probably accounted for the sudden warm feeling in her face and the fluttery fuzziness in her chest. Knowing Ginny, the other girl had probably spiked it with a bit of Firewhisky as well, just to help her friend 'loosen up a bit', as the younger witch was always advising Hermione to do. The Weasleys were a bad influence, Hermione smiled to herself wryly.

Making her excuses to Viktor as the song finished, she took her leave of her dance partner and picked her way carefully through the crowds, not fully trusting her own capabilities. Eyes flicking over to the table where Professor Snape had been standing momentarily, she noticed he had now vanished. Probably off dishing out detentions to third-years snogging in the corridors, she mused. Suddenly a hand tapped her on the shoulder and Hermione turned to see the youngest Weasley standing there, grinning impishly at her. "Hey 'Mi, how's your date?" Trust Ginny to ask about a Quidditch player!

"Oh, err… Viktor's nice, we've just had a dance." She waved her hand vaguely at the crowd behind them as if to illustrate. "Say Gin, did you slip anything into that Butterbeer we had earlier?" Hermione fixed the other Gryffindor girl with a mock-accusatory glare.

"Nope, why? You feeling a bit tipsy already?" Ginny flashed her a trademark freckly Weasley grin that reminded Hermione of Fred and George when they were up to no good. "Maybe you're drunk on Krum?" Ginny laughed lightly and gave Hermione a conspiratorial dig in the ribs with her elbow. She looked around for the Durmstrang student and spotted him stood with a few of the other European visitors, nursing a glass of something bright green and fizzing, and absorbed in conversation with another red-robed boy with a severe haircut that rivalled his own. "He's quite the catch you know, all the girls are talking about it - you're the envy of all of them. And some of the boys too I think!" She let out a small snort of amusement, well-aware that Krum's celebrity sportsman status would be completely wasted on Hermione Granger.

Hermione was still scanning around the room aimlessly. "Oh. Yes I suppose. He's very talented. Viktor's been telling me all about the games he's played for Bulgaria…" Her voice trailed off. Ginny could tell that Eastern European Quidditch was the very last thing her friend cared about right now.

"You okay, Herm? You seem a bit distracted."

"Mmm I'm fine, Ginny. I just… I think perhaps I'll go outside for a minute for a bit of fresh air." Hermione fidgeted absentmindedly with her bracelet and smoothed at the ruffles on the front of her dress.

"Oh, okay. Do you want me to come with you? I've left Neville somewhere for a minute, I think he was grabbing us a couple of drinks but I can find him and let him know if…?" The younger girl looked across the crowd, searching for her partner.

"No, no I'm fine Gin, honestly. You go and find Neville, I'm sure he'd love a dance with you." Hermione smiled warmly but distractedly at her friend, clasped her arm in farewell and made her way through the Hall and out the entrance, into the cool, wide corridor outside.

Leaning back against the stone wall, Hermione ran her hands lightly over her hair, checking it was all still in place where it had been charmed. She smoothed down the front of her dress again self-consciously. The ruffles stayed put. Sighing deeply, she slipped off her high heels and started to pad her way randomly through the castle. She'd be glad when things got back to normal she thought; as exciting as the idea of the Tournament and the Yule Ball had been initially, she was finding the whole thing rather draining emotionally. Hermione thought she'd much rather settle for a nice relaxing week of exams any day...


	2. The Bad Touch

**Chapter Two: The Bad Touch**

Looking up, Hermione realised she'd made her way to the foot of the Astronomy Tower. While her interests were more towards the physical side of magic - spells she could cast, potions that could be brewed - she did have to admit that it was a rather beautifully constructed part of the castle. She'd often admired the various instruments: twisted brass sculptures and exquisite gadgets that adorned the Tower walls. The view from the top would be quite spectacular with the recent snowfall, she imagined. Wishing she'd brought a shawl, Hermione hugged her bare arms across her midriff and made her way delicately up the spiral staircase to the open floor above. Reaching out to grasp the handrail at the top, she hesitated. In front of her, at the edge of the platform right against the outer railing with his back towards her, stood the unmistakeable figure of Severus Snape. Clearly he hadn't heard her approach. But she wasn't breaking any rules, and Snape didn't instil such deep loathing in her as he did with Harry and Ron. Ron just thought that the Potions professor was an 'evil git' - mostly by his sheer reputation - and Harry, well...

There was obviously some deeper connection between the pair that had set them against one another from the minute they had arrived at Hogwarts. Snape had evidently had an acrimonious relationship with Harry's father and his friends during their own school days, and with the younger Potter's striking resemblance to James she supposed it was only inevitable that Snape disliked Harry on principle. Hermione had sometimes been subject to the professor's ire over the years herself - mostly because of her house she assumed - but hadn't they all? Even Malfoy had now and then been scolded by his own Head of House when the Potions master had gotten really angry on occasion. And looking back, she could admit to herself that, yes, perhaps she _did_ try too hard to be a know-it-all. Fortunately, Harry and Ron's influence seemed to be rubbing off on her, and vice versa, and while she was still studiously applying herself to her schoolwork, Hermione could now allow herself to relax a little bit more and not be quite so uptight. The boys still frequently badgered her to help them with their essays if they'd been set anything more challenging than 'The Twenty Uses of Flobberworm Mucus' though. She sighed, smiling to herself slightly. Some things never changed.

* * *

Staring out over the rolling hills beyond the Hogwarts grounds, Snape closed his eyes briefly and exhaled slowly through his hooked nose, his hands clasped behind his back in contemplation. In the crisp silence, he heard a faint sigh behind him. Spinning almost impossibly fast, eyes snapping open and his coattails flapping, he turned to face the intruder, barely staying his hand from reaching to his inner pocket for his wand. Just emerging from the staircase in the middle of the mezzanine was Hermione Granger, barefoot and shivering noticeably.

"Miss Granger," he clipped at her, "What in Merlin's name are _you_ doing up here?" Snape didn't much care for her answer in truth; he just wanted her to go away and leave him to his solitude. "Shouldn't you be at the Ball. With the Champions." Again, not a question.

The girl moved away from the stairs and took a few halting steps in his direction, rubbing her bare arms with her hands in an attempt to stave off the chill wind. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't realise there was anyone else up here. I'll just…" She turned to leave.

"Granger!" Snape didn't know why he stopped her, but the young witch paused a second at his words. "You may stay, Miss Granger. I believe I have other duties to attend to anyway." He strode towards her and carried on past, his coat sleeve brushing her skin as they met.

* * *

Hermione suddenly thought back to their previous year, when Professor Lupin had undergone his change beneath the Whomping Willow that fateful night. Upon seeing the werewolf, Snape had thrown himself in front of her and her friends without hesitation - unarmed and completely defenceless as he was against the large, and extremely hostile beast who had already been on a mission to kill someone that evening even before he had transformed. She remembered seeing the look of abject terror on Snape's face as he'd realised the mortal danger they suddenly found themselves in.

That was true bravery she thought. To fear something and to confront it regardless. When the Lupin-wolf had lunged at them, Snape had stood fast and taken a glancing blow to the chest, knocked to the floor. Hermione remembered she had tried to grab for the professor on the way down, tried to break his fall. He'd been extremely lucky to avoid serious injury, or worse. They all had. But Snape hadn't faltered one iota, springing back to his feet instantly to try to protect his students from what must have seemed like certain death for them all. He could have run, saved himself. She couldn't comprehend why Harry still resolutely refused to believe that Snape was on their side. Being a bit of a grouch didn't make someone a Death Eater, any more than being Sorted into Gryffindor naturally made somebody brave (look at Neville!). The touch of the professor's robes just now reminded her of clutching at his arm desperately as they watched the fight between Remus and Sirius that awful night, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her breath catch in her throat. She felt a renewed pang of appreciation for the Head of Slytherin as he made his exit past her.

Just as Snape's boot hit the top stair, Hermione put her arm out and placed her hand on his as he grasped the railing. His arm jerked away reflexively as if he had been hit by a Stinging Jinx, whipping his hand out from under hers and snapping his head around in her direction. Though the professor was now stood half a step below her, Hermione found herself still having to crane her neck up slightly to look him in the eye as he fixed her with a steely dark glare for a long moment. Shifting his weight backwards and stepping back up to the upper floor, merely inches away from her, she swallowed nervously as he folded his arms tightly across his chest and drew himself up to his full, not-inconsiderable height. Strands of long black hair fell haphazardly across his face, which he tossed back with an irritated flick of his head before he spoke.

"Miss Granger…" he said menacingly, arms crossing tighter until his hands were stuffed up almost into his armpits; only his long pale thumbs visible as they emerged from the crevice between his bicep and body, reaching towards the spot where his collarbone would be beneath his dark tunic. "I think perhaps you'd better re-join your classmates in the Great Hall after all," he added, teeth gritted, "Where you won't do anything you'll come to regret later…"

"I…" Hermione's speech faltered, her teeth chattering due to the cold, her brain stuck for words for once. Snape didn't move a muscle. "Yes sir, sorry. Thank you. Merry Christmas." She dropped her gaze to the floor and awkwardly edged past him and back down the stairs once more, into the darkness below.

* * *

Severus remained motionless for another minute or so until he was sure she had gone, standing there, fists clenching and unclenching. He felt- what? Perhaps her contact had been entirely accidental, he chided himself. It almost certainly had. Fool... Granger was just a clumsy, uncoordinated girl - he knew that as well as anyone else who'd ever met her for more than five minutes. A clumsy, socially awkward, precocious, know-it-all girl. Young woman. And now he looked equally foolish assuming there was something more behind her gesture. He snorted. "You dolt, Severus." he growled to himself crossly.

His contemplative mood had passed now - he descended the tower and made his way swiftly towards the dungeons and his own rooms, students and staff alike making way for him as he strode through the corridors with an almost military bearing and pace. Sinking into an old but sturdy armchair in the corner of his living quarters, Snape finally withdrew his wand from within the folds of his tunic and pointed towards an equally antique but sturdy wooden cabinet in the other corner.

"Accio Firewhisky." The door to the cupboard swung open and a large smoke-coloured glass bottle floated swiftly across the carpet and landed gently in his lap. Uncorking it, Snape poured a large measure of Ogden's Old into a short glass tumbler that sat on the table next to him, regarded the glass for a half second, then tilted the bottle again and added more to it. He resealed the bottle and placed it carefully on the floor next to his chair. He might need it later. Raising the tumbler to his lips, he hesitated, held it back out at arms' length and pointed his wand at the drink.

"Glacius!" The clear glass instantly frosted over; cold crystals crackling and creeping up the sides almost to the rim. Satisfied, Snape tucked his wand down the side of the armchair next to him and took a long sip. Crossing one leg over his knee and pinching the bridge of his sizeable nose with his free hand, he closed his eyes in a mixture of fatigue and exasperation and let out a deep sigh. Why in the name of Merlin had he ever decided to go into teaching!

* * *

Hermione couldn't face returning to the Great Hall, and praying that she didn't bump into Professor Snape again, made her way back to the Gryffindor common room. Once safely back in the girls' dorm, she lay back on her bed and covered her face with her hands and rubbed blearily at her tired eyes, thinking back on the rather strange turn that the evening had taken. She didn't particularly mind about missing out on the rest of the evening's dancing. And no doubt Harry and Ron would probably just be hanging around the buffet table all night. She was sure Viktor would probably have no trouble finding himself another willing partner to dance with for the duration. She'd seen several other girls eyeing them up jealously earlier when the pair had arrived at the Ball.

In all honesty, she had no idea why she'd agreed to go with Krum in the first place. And even less of an idea why he'd asked her of all people! He barely spoke English, couldn't even pronounce her name, and despite being several academic years above her, seemed to be severely lacking in magical knowledge. Perhaps the teaching at Durmstrang simply wasn't of as high a calibre as in Hogwarts. After all, the institute's slightly less-than-wholesome reputation probably didn't attract the finest employees. Regardless, she would probably welcome a break from being followed around the library by the gawping international sports star. Sometimes she thought he looked like he'd never seen the inside of a book before, and half expected him to poke curiously at the pages as if they were a new and exotic animal he had discovered, and unsure as to whether it might bite. Although to be fair, there were a few of her textbooks that _would_ probably try and take a chunk out of anyone that approached them without respectful caution.

Smirking slightly at the thought of Krum with a weighty tome clamped firmly to one of his digits, Hermione shucked out of her dress and clambered under the covers, waiting for Ginny and the other girls to return with tales of drinking, dancing, and possibly debauchery. Pulling the bedspread up to her chin, she called Crookshanks, who appeared from under Parvati's bed and hopped nimbly onto hers, settling with a resounding purr on the centre of Hermione's chest. She lay staring at the canopy above her - no point trying to sleep before the other got back, they would surely just wake her up again. She started to run through a list of the important dates and their corresponding events of the Goblin Rebellions from their recent History of Magic assignment to keep her mind occupied, and made it almost up to the nineteenth century before she started snoring softly…


	3. Kiss Me Deadly

**Chapter Three: Kiss Me Deadly**

The following morning, Snape awoke in darkness, still in the armchair and with the tumbler empty on the table by his side. A quick glance at the floor revealed the Ogden's bottle, also empty, lying on its side, a few damp spots on the flagstones beneath its neck. Rubbing blearily at his eyes, he fished around down the side of the seat cushion and extracted his wand. It was still early but he'd probably need a good while to get himself into a presentable state before his first class. Which he realised was fourth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin. How irritating. Tempted to Scourgify his own mouth to eradicate any lingering taste and residual odour from his overindulgence the previous evening, he washed and dressed in a clean set of robes, his usual black. Adjusting the sleeves, he swirled his cloak about his shoulders and headed off out through the dungeons to the classroom, stopping off at his store cupboard to collect a few necessary ingredients for the morning's lesson. He was still irked by the theft of several items from his stores recently. A fastidious man, Snape knew his entire inventory by heart, and was beyond annoyed that not only did somebody have the gall to steal from him, but also the nature of the missing ingredients troubled him. Boomslang skin was horribly expensive, and whoever was brewing Polyjuice Potion, he would bet a month's salary that it was for some nefarious purpose. Potter again perhaps, but Snape couldn't fathom what use the boy might have for it in the tournament.

Thoughts of Harry Potter led to an image of Granger popping into his head - doubtless the brains behind the brat's operation. Curse the girl. He wished he'd had the wherewithal to use Legilimency on her as they'd crossed paths on the stairs. She was up to something as well, he'd bet twenty Galleons on it. Despite dreading taking the class even more than usual, Snape actually realised the time went by quite quickly. By some miracle, no-one blew anything up, or boiled their potion dry for a change. He was going to run out of befouled cauldrons for the students to clean during detentions at this rate. To his pleasant surprise, Granger had kept an uncommonly low profile for the entire sixty minutes. In fact she barely raised her head at all in class, never mind her hand, for once. He decided he didn't care. In fact, if she kept her mouth shut for the rest of the year he'd be a happy man. Relatively speaking.

* * *

That morning, Hermione woke with a start. She hadn't heard Ginny and the others make it back up to the dorm at all last night, at whatever unearthly hour they'd eventually rolled in! Obviously thinking about goblins had put her out for the count. Goblins. She had a hazy memory of a dream about goblins. Scrunching up her face with effort, she tried to recall it. Dancing at the Ball - so far, so expected. Dancing with Viktor, who took a drink of Butterbeer and turned into Professor Snape. The dark wizard had grabbed her arm and spun her across the dancefloor aggressively. Mid-pirouette, Snape turned into a goblin, who told her that she'd better keep her hands to herself, before turning back into Snape again, albeit now dressed in Durmstrang robes. The music changed and the band started playing a slow song that Hermione vaguely recalled as one by the Hobgoblins that Ginny had tried to get her to listen to recently, although she couldn't make out any of the words. Snape-Krum had put his hands on her waist and pulled her towards him, his face getting closer and closer until-...

Merlin's beard! Did she really have a dream about kissing Professor Snape?! No wonder she'd woken flustered! She couldn't imagine what it was about the events of the previous evening that had prompted such a thing. She cursed the fact that she'd dropped Divination that year - a little insight into her dream's meaning, if any, might have been handy, mumbo jumbo or not.

Realising with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that her first lesson that morning was Potions, she dressed hurriedly and made her way to class, keeping her head down and avoiding everyone, certain that the flush of embarrassment she felt was writ large all over her face. Harry and Ron seemed bemused by their friend's sudden change of mood, but the pair failed to extract more than a cursory greeting from her as they settled down to work, and after a couple of attempts at making conversation they soon gave up.

Only on a couple of occasions when Hermione was certain Snape was busy working away at his own desk did she risk a quick glance up. He seemed perfectly normal. For Snape, at any rate. His long dark hair fell limply over his face as he scratched away at a piece of parchment with a spindly black quill - no doubt some unfortunate first-year's homework - with enough red ink to qualify as an essay in its own right. She chanced another look at the professor. His hands moved to dip the quill in the ink pot again, and she found herself appreciating the efficiency of his movements; not an ounce of wasted energy, his sinewy fingers coiled around the feather like a serpent. She recalled the feeling of those elegant hands in her dream last night, and abruptly buried her face back into the textbook they were working from as she felt her face flush burning hot again. She didn't think that anyone else had noticed, thank Merlin.

As the bell rang for the end of class, Hermione stuffed her books, stationery and equipment back into her bag hurriedly and fairly ran out of the classroom, not waiting for Ron and Harry, who turned to each other, shrugged, and carried on arguing about which one of them had gotten the newt eyes out of the cupboard, and who should be the one to go and put them back.


	4. Marked

**Chapter Four: Marked**

A few days passed, and the excitement of the Ball was forgotten. Hermione got over the indignity of being held hostage by mermaids, and being rather shoddily rescued by Viktor Krum. Up until then she'd had no further interaction with Professor Snape, but after she'd emerged from the lake, soaking wet and shivering, he had been watching from the stands as Ron and Ginny came to wrap a towel around her shoulders.

"Given Miss Granger's talent for flames," he drawled nastily at them, "I would have thought perhaps she might be able to keep _herself_ warm and dry, without your assistance?"

Hermione flushed red, deflated; her guilty hazel eyes quickly darting to meet his fathomless black ones, before ducking her gaze to the floor. He knew she was the one that set him on fire in their first year, she was sure of it. Reminding herself that actually she'd had very _good_ reason for her actions during the Quidditch match, albeit however misguided, she puffed herself back up a little bit and made a very deliberate and enthusiastic show of accepting the towel from her friends, staring the professor in the eye for a second or two, before turning and heading back to the castle, away from the fanfare of the tournament.

Snape's eyes glittered with quiet amusement. So she _was_ the one who had set fire to his cloak while he was attempting a counter-curse to block Quirrell's efforts at murdering Potter several years ago; he had long suspected as much, but it was nice to have confirmation. He didn't particularly care - he'd had experiences of being strung up, half drowned, set on fire, and worse during his school days, and for a lot less reason than had motivated Granger to defy her goody-two-shoes image. The Head of Slytherin watched the girl stalk away huffily, pride wounded, clutching a small damp towel around her shoulders ineffectually. Wet through - her hazel curls plastered to the side of her face, jeans clinging tightly to her skin - Snape realised she was still just as pretty as she had been in that ball gown the other night. Brains _and_ beauty, a rare combination.

Though it pained him to admit it, the Gryffindor girl would probably go on to great things someday. He felt a pang of regret. Lily had had similar qualities, and between marrying Potter, settling down to start a family, and being brutally murdered, all just barely out of school, she had been robbed of whatever bright future she should have had. He still thought of her every day: her impossibly dazzling green eyes and auburn hair. He bitterly regretted his past mistakes and wished fervently that things had turned out differently, but he was a practical man, and while nothing would ever bring her back nor completely assuage his guilt and anger over the paths their lives had taken, he was at least now doing his utmost best to make amends. How had Albus put it to him once? '_It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live_.' Dumbledore might be an eccentric old coot, but Snape had a grudging respect for the elder wizard's superior intellect and wisdom accrued over the ages.

A week before the final task, Severus had the misfortune to run into Karkaroff in the hallway. Probably not accidental on Igor's behalf, he mused - the man had the look of someone whose very shadow was on fire and he were trying desperately to outrun it. He'd nobbled Snape coming out of his potions storeroom and pushed him back into the cramped chamber, crazed and ranting.

"Look, Severus! It gets darker by the day!" Karkaroff pulled the sleeve of his robes up sharply to reveal his Dark Mark throbbing angrily away, jet black as the day he'd been branded with it. Snape had tried to dismiss him. Dumbledore had plotted a course of action through the madness that would likely ensue once the remaining loyal Death Eaters regrouped around their master. It was of little consequence to him whether the Dark Lord was making a return or not, he knew his duties would remain the same; although there were no guarantees that he would make it out the other end alive.

"You can run if you like Igor - I know there are a few people in Azkaban who would probably like a little _tête-à-tête_ with you after the evidence you gave to the Ministry at your trial?" Nasty to further spook the frightened man he knew, but he couldn't resist. He omitted to say '_Which included my name_', leaving the insinuation hanging thickly in the air. "As you can see, I am _quite_ happy to remain where I am for the moment. I have no fear of reprisals from anyone, and my position here at Hogwarts affords me Dumbledore's protection both from the Ministry, as well as from any other Death Eaters who might believe I have abandoned the cause."

He couldn't help sounding a little smug. Playing both sides was a dangerous game, he knew only too well, but if one did it _just right_, there was a sweet spot that could be exploited by those with sufficient talent. If Severus Snape had ever had faith in anything about himself, it was that he was possessed of extraordinary talents. One only had to hope that the correct side was victorious, as and when one's true allegiances were revealed, or else commit to perpetuating the lie for the rest of one's natural life. Looking Karkaroff in the eye, he could see the man was almost completely deranged by panic. Legilimency was not required. The Dark Lord always did attract those with weak character, he mused.

"Dumbledore can't protect you Snape - the Dark Lord will find you. If you don't serve him, you will die!" Eyeing Snape suspiciously, Karkaroff leaned forward, his hot breath blowing rankly into the Potions master's face in the enclosed space. Snape's lip curled slightly in revulsion. "Unless... Has Dumbledore found a way to remove your Mark?" Suddenly he lunged at his colleague across the gap between them, grasping for his sleeve. The Durmstrang Headmaster found himself with the blunt tip of an ebony wand shoved almost up his flaring nostril - it had appeared in a flash, as if by magic, in Snape's other hand.

"Back... off..." Snape's voice was cold. Using his wand to prod the trembling man away to a more comfortable distance, Snape roughly grabbed his tight tunic sleeve and yanked it up as far as he could, to reveal his own Dark Mark - just as angry and black as that of Karkaroff's. "There. Are you satisfied? I feel the same call. I'm simply not so much of a coward as you, Igor."

Suddenly a movement in the corner of his eye caught both of their attention. A student had been passing the open doorway and was staring intently at the exchange between the two men, sequestered away with their identical Marks out on display. It was Granger. Angrily yanking his sleeve back down, Snape pushed Karkaroff out of the store cupboard and closed the door with a slam. Blasted girl! While he didn't much care whether the students discovered their teacher was a Death Eater or not - he knew his reputation was already formidable enough that he had been the Boggart form for several students over the years, and their opinions mattered little to him - something about _her_ seeing tangible proof of his former Dark allegiances caused him some disquiet. Scowling to himself, he stomped up the ladder to the top shelves and busied himself re-categorising the dried cockroaches by size.


	5. At The Library

**Chapter Five: At the Library**

Snape and Hermione didn't see much of each other for the remainder of the school year, what with the sudden disruption in routine due to the climactic events of the Triwizard Tournament. Snape was submerged in a sea of rage after discovering the loathsome Barty Crouch Jr. was both alive and well, and swanning about the school beneath his nose. And thieving from him, no less! The fanatical madman's activities had also put Potter in the spotlight, and given the boy even more undeserved attention from his peers.

That revolting, insane little bastard had murdered and terrorised to bring the Dark Lord back to his full power - the thought made Severus nauseous. His stomach had lurched again when Dumbledore had confided to him the details of Potter's confrontation with Voldemort in the Little Hangleton graveyard and the effects of the Priori Incantatum spell. He had almost wished then that he _had_ returned to the Dark Lord's side that night, if only to see Lily Evans's face once more. At least Crouch hadn't managed to evade the long, Dementor-y arm of the law once he had been discovered though; unlike Pettigrew, on whom Snape dreamed of practicing his Entrail-Expelling Curse on a near-daily basis, in reparation for his many betrayals.

He had had mixed feelings about being co-opted into Albus's Order of the Phoenix. Obviously he was going to do his duty and turn spy for the Headmaster. It had taken a great deal of bravery (some of it provided by Firewhisky), but no time at all for him to agree that he would return to the Dark Lord's side, under the pretence of remaining loyal to the Death Eaters' cause and that he was feeding them inside information from his privileged place at Dumbledore's side. He felt enormous pride at being a part of something that Lily had fought for all those years ago, sadness that she wasn't still around that he might fight with her, and a hint of irritation at the thought that he had also joined the likes of Lupin, Black and Potter as a part of the organisation. It was a burden he would have to bear. Hopefully he would prove himself far more useful than a bunch of teenage layabouts who seemed only to have managed to get themselves either imprisoned or slaughtered.

It was during an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place that he encountered Hermione Granger again. The girl was staying there with a gaggle of Weasleys, although she and the youngest members of the family were excluded from the goings-on, for obvious reasons. Sirius seldom made an appearance in the kitchen, although Molly usually sent him up a plate of something whenever there was food served at the gatherings. Snape usually declined any of her provisions - not because he didn't trust the witch, but he disliked opening up in front of any of them. Eating was such a very personal activity, ripe with opportunities to appear vulnerable.

On a brief stop into the Black library, perusing the shelves on the off-chance that there might be some interesting titles he had yet to discover, he had bumped into her, curled up in a large, high-backed armchair in the corner - reading, naturally. She almost disappeared into the seat, and was so engrossed in her reading material that she didn't initially look up as he entered the room. Suddenly noticing the tall, black figure swishing past her, she jumped.

"Oh, Professor! I didn't see you. You startled me!"

Not detecting that any of those statements required a response, Snape continued what he was doing; crossing the room to the largest of the bookshelves which housed the thickest, tattiest tomes. No doubt they would be the most... _appealing _to him. For all Black's faults, Severus was sure his family had very _particular_ interests when it came to magical learning, and it never hurt to expand one's horizons. Knowledge was power, didn't some Muggle fellow once say? Dumbledore might try to keep a lid on Snape's bent for the Dark Arts, but Severus was a grown man now, and possessed of sufficient faculties to know that it wasn't a path he wanted to return to. But still... For old times' sake.

"How did the meeting go?" Granger was still trying to engage him in conversation. At least she had posited an actual question this time.

"Uneventful." He cleared his throat, and went back to peering closely at the faded gold lettering on the cracked and worn spines in front of him: _The Dark Arts: A Legal Companion_ \- so far, so tame; _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ \- read it; _The Dark Arts Outsmarted_ \- owned it. Ah, _Magick Moste Evile!_ Snape was not disappointed. Upon his (first) rejected application for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship and subsequent appointment at the school as Potions master, Dumbledore had apparently given Irma Pince very strict instructions that Severus Snape was not permitted to check that particular volume out of the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' Library, and as such, he had never had the opportunity to flick through it. How fortunate that Black's family were sufficiently depraved as to possess a copy!

As he reached out an arm to prise his selection from between its leathery brothers and sisters, Granger piped up annoyingly again. "Oh, that's quite an old one, isn't it? I've always wanted to read that - just for educational reasons of course - but what with it being locked away in the Restricted Section, and I've never managed to get Harry to lend me his Clo-" She stopped abruptly, trailing off and turning her attention to the empty fireplace. Snape deduced instantly that she was referring to Potter's rather ingenious Invisibility Cloak. He wasn't sure why she was being coy about it - the girl knew full-well that Snape was aware of its existence as he had had occasion to use it himself in the past. If Dumbledore thought Potter should have the infernal thing, who was he to argue? He didn't have to be happy about it of course. It seemed a most unwise possession for a child so _prolific_ at attracting trouble. How very like Granger though, to take something so marvellous, with almost unlimited possibilities, and want to use it to sneak into the library to borrow books(!) He let out a quiet snort of derision to himself.

Tucking the large volume under his arm, his movement caused the sleeve of his robes to ride up a little, exposing the snake's head at the base of his Dark Mark. Granger had turned back from the fire and was staring at the brand, almost transfixed, as if her mind had gone somewhere completely other at the mere sight of his sullied flesh. He remembered she had seen it before, that day in the store cupboard, when Karkaroff had been having his little meltdown. Snape had thought she might be revolted, or frightened, or at least shocked at getting confirmation of his allegiances in black and white, but she seemed to be none of these.

Scowling, he cleared his throat again, and her eyes refocused; her gaze rising to meet his own. He thought she might be embarrassed by being caught staring at his Mark. At him. But instead she spoke softly, in a voice that might have concealed something approaching compassion, he couldn't be certain. It unnerved him slightly, regardless.

"Can you ever stop...? Being a..." She politely trailed off, unwilling to say the words out loud. Using the silence as a euphemism and hoping he would understand.

"Death Eater?" Snape had no such inhibitions. He was clueless as to why he continued to indulge her though.

"Yes, that... Does it hurt?"

"No... It darkens as His power grows, and burns when He summons us, but it gives me no physical pain, ordinarily." Looking to see whether the girl was disturbed by this vaguely uncomfortably personal revelation, he saw instead that she had a rapt expression on her face, her mouth open slightly in an 'O' of wonder, seemingly fascinated. Of course she would be(!) Bloody know-it-all... He bet she was finding it _riveting_ learning! She seemed not to have noticed that he hadn't answered her first question.

"No _physical_ pain? Isn't there some way to remove it? If it bothers you, I mean?" Her eyebrows were furrowed slightly, in a mixture of concern and deep thought as she racked her brains for a solution.

"It's of no consequence - merely a token from a past life. Besides, it still has its uses."

"Right... You're very brave you know, Professor? To work for Dumbledore - spying on Voldemort for the Order."

Darned Muggle-borns. He tried not to flinch at her casual bandying around of the Dark Lord's name - no awareness as to the response it engendered in witches and wizards across the land. "I do what I have been asked to do, no more, no less." She was smiling warmly at him now; he felt even more unnerved.

"Well, we all appreciate what you're doing for the Order - and Harry. Sirius is obviously grateful as well. I know the two of you have a... history together? But I'm pleased he lets you come here. For the meetings, I mean. And, I'm sure he wouldn't object to you using the library, I hardly ever see him in here myself anyway. He's not that keen on being in the house at all really, after all this time. I think he doesn't have too many fond memories of growing up here. But I'm glad someone's making good use of the books - it's a veritable treasure trove!"

Snape's expression had started neutral, and soured slightly as she continued to talk. Unable to repress his building irritation any longer, he let loose with a burst of anger, occasional flecks of spittle flying from his thin, pale lips. "I very much doubt Sirius Black is grateful for anything; he's a morally-bankrupt man-child with all the charm of a wet dog!" He spat viciously. "He once tried to _murder_ me in our later years at Hogwarts - I don't suppose he happened to mention _that_ little detail to you at any point while he's been skulking around here, _no_? I thought not(!) Apparently… the idea of my violent and untimely death was a source of _great_ amusement to him as a student..."

Hermione blinked at the sudden diatribe, recoiling into the seat until her head was pressed up against the backrest, her eyes wide. Fortunately for her, but not for Snape, she didn't have the opportunity to reply. As he paused for breath, the door opened and, as if Summoned by the use of his name, in stepped Sirius Orion Black - still looking like he'd only just escaped from Azkaban - followed by Remus Lupin. Hermione cringed inwardly. This was not going to help the professor's sudden rise in blood pressure(!)

"Oi, Snape! What are you up to in here, snooping about?! You better make sure to leave her alone! And my godson too - you're lucky James isn't here to give you a good hexing, you little worm! Although I expect you probably celebrate that fact every day, don't you? Expect you had a good old party the night your Dark Lord went to Godric's Hollow?!" Sirius barked at him. The two men in black squared up to each other, the air crackling with tension as Lupin looked on over his friend's shoulder. Hermione thought he appeared resigned to whatever was about to occur between the pair of combatants, and she nervously glanced back and forth to make sure nobody had their wands out yet.

Snape inhaled deeply, opened his mouth as if to let loose a violent retort, then snapped his lips shut tight and turned an uncharacteristic puce colour. She thought he looked almost like he were about to vomit. Abruptly spinning on his heel, the professor dropped the book he was holding onto a small table beside him and left the room without saying a word, swooping through the door, cloak billowing angrily behind him.

"Bye _Snivellus_," jeered Black petulantly towards the empty doorway. Lupin shot him a mildly reproachful glance.

"_Now_ who's arguing like an old married couple?" he said to his friend teasingly, cocking an eyebrow at the Animagus. Black punched him in the arm, only half-playfully, and flopped bonelessly onto a threadbare chaise longue by the door. Hermione sighed at the pair and closed her book, returning it to its gap on the shelf and, picking up the book Snape had abandoned, left the library as well.

Making her way towards the kitchen through the narrow hallways, Hermione had drawn level with the portrait of Walburga Black when she was startled by a shrill cry of "_FILTHY MUDBLOOD! HALF-BREED SCUM_!" Someone had left the curtain over the picture frame open again. She didn't particularly mind the racial epithet to be fair, but the shrieking did become rather grating after a while. Suddenly an unseen force whisked the cover over Mrs Black's furious visage. Stepping out from around the corner, she was confronted with the now marginally-less-angry Potions master. With a swish of his wand he had concealed Sirius' ranting mother, and just for good measure flicked another curse at it as well which hit the fabric with an electrical crackle, eliciting a muffled exclamation from its target.

"I don't care for that word..." Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, uncertain what to say in response. Then she remembered the book tucked under her arm. She proffered it towards him, arm outstretched at far as it would go. As her hand drooped under the weight of the volume, Snape stepped forward and it fell neatly into his palm. Closing his long, pale fingers around the spine, he dipped his head fractionally in a minute nod of acknowledgment and appreciation. "You were going to take that for a bit of light bedtime reading for yourself?(!) Or you were coming to catch me up?" He cocked his head to the side slightly.

Hermione thought for a second. Even she wasn't quite sure. "Um, well, I just didn't want to leave it in there, you know? I thought you might come back for it at some point, and if Sirius knew it was of interest to you..." She offered him a small, apologetic smile for mentioning his adversary's name again. Then she leaned forward slightly, her tone conspiratorial, although they were alone in the corridor. "Did he _really_ try to kill you when you were at school?"

Snape seemed torn between divulging information about an event that was clearly a source of shame and repressed anger for him, and finally having a willing audience with whom to share all the gory details. His face broke into a sneer, although Hermione thought it was mildly less threatening than the expression he often wore in class, and deduced it was probably just him relishing in sullying another person's impression of Sirius. Another curt nod from him.

"_How_?" She almost whispered it.

"Death by werewolf. You can probably imagine why I am not _particularly_ keen on the creatures(!)"

Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of their head as she processed this new information and she almost squeaked as she asked, "Remus?!"

A third nod. "Not really Lupin's fault, of course. Wolfsbane was unavailable to him at the time, and he wouldn't have been aware of his actions. Black and Potter however..." His expression darkened again and Hermione jumped in, lest his mood take another swift downturn at the thought of his old school contemporaries.

"Gosh, that's awful!" Then she added, "I knew you were brave, see? When you protected us from the werewolf last year? You stepped right in front of us, unarmed, knowing how dangerous it was! You would have sacrificed yourself for us, even though - don't argue - even though we're probably your least favourite students ever!"

"I wasn't going to argue." Snape drawled, hoping she wasn't going to get all dewy-eyed on him. "I would have done it for any student, it's my duty as a teacher at Hogwarts. A rather _unwise_ decision though, I'll admit - it would have been far more prudent to have run and fetched other faculty members to assist. I got lucky that Black managed to fend off the wolf briefly. And that it became... distracted, by something in the distance. Pure luck..." He seemed to stare right through her, as if momentarily lost in the memory.

Hermione remembered making the wolf-call that had drawn Lupin's attention, and shuddered at the memory of being stalked by the nightmarish beast through the woods. She adored the gentle DADA professor, but she had to struggle to compartmentalise the two aspects of his personality, so horrifyingly different were they. "The result's not what counts though, is it sir? The fact is, you did it, knowing that you were facing almost certain death. I know why Professor Dumbledore trusts you implicitly. The others..." she blushed faintly, "Some of the others aren't completely convinced that you've renounced the Death Eaters."

"And you are?" His eyes refocused, and flicked to meet hers, unblinking. Again, he didn't particularly care for her opinion but the alternative was Apparating back to his house at Spinner's End, and he tried to put off returning to that dank, dark squalor as much as possible.

"Yes, sir. For a start, Albus Dumbledore's the most intelligent and powerful wizard alive, and if _he_ can't be sure of your allegiance then nobody can! Secondly, I think _you're_ also an extremely talented wizard, and if anyone has the ability to perform as difficult task as you've been given, then it's you."

"I'm flattered(!)" He looked down his nose at her. "Has it ever occurred to you, that if I were sufficiently capable of convincing the Dark Lord that I am on his side, whilst spying for the Headmaster, that I would be equally able to do the opposite?"

"Well... yes, I suppose, but..." He raised an eyebrow at her, mockingly. "Well, it'd be the most convoluted, pointless charade I should think - when you could just kill Harry and Professor Dumbledore, or just leave the school and serve You-Know-Who directly. Plus there's been lots of other times where you could have either killed Harry, or just let him die. I don't see the point!"

"You don't? Well, how very fortunate we are, Miss Granger, that we have your _intuition_ to make sense of things(!) My thanks for the book." And without further ado, he swept past her and down the hallway. The front door opened on its own, and closed softly again behind him. Hermione stared at the brass letterbox for a moment as if she were expecting it to do something special. It didn't. The draft from the doorway blew down the hall and caused the curtain to flap slightly. "_BLOOD-TRAITOR, SON-OF-A-BANSHEE..._!" Fortunately the cloth fell back down to cover the demented old witch's picture again, and silence resumed. Hermione let out a long sigh. Why couldn't she have just gone to Muggle school and become a dentist like her parents? Then she broke out into a broad smile. As frustrating and dangerous as the wizarding world could be sometimes, she wouldn't miss all this craziness for anything. Turning away from the front door, she skipped up the stairs to her room on the third floor, thinking about the very odd, but strangely fascinating man that was Professor Severus Snape.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to all who have read and reviewed so far :)**


	6. Cheap Wine & Cheaper Women

**Chapter Six: Cheap Wine Cheaper Women**

Once back at Spinner's End, Snape shrugged off his cloak and boots, and settled down with a copy of yesterday's Prophet and something alcoholic. No Firewhisky here, his father never had any in the house, being a Muggle, and his mother didn't, or wasn't permitted to drink - although no doubt she'd have liked to, if only to forget the constant abuse. He did have however, nettle wine. Lots of it. Severus had no idea where it had come from, but he'd discovered a couple of dozen bottles in the outhouse shortly after he'd taken possession of his parents' old home. He'd palmed a couple off a few years earlier on Dumbledore's ridiculous defences for the Philosopher's Stone, and several more as gifts at Christmas and the like when it had been obligatory to make a show of goodwill - Charity Burbage's birthday recently had been the ideal opportunity.

He had a fairly good working relationship with most of his colleagues. Being one of the youngest members of staff he respected their positions, did his best to rub along with them all, and occasionally rose to the odd social nicety when it was required of him. Despite that, there were still plenty of wine bottles left in his outhouse. He wasn't much of a fan of plonk - maybe the odd glass with a meal - but when he drank, it was usually to get drunk. Spirits were so much more efficient.

He thought back to his final conversation with Miss Granger in London earlier. A small part of him puffed up with pride at the fact that there was someone in the world who both recognised and appreciated his efforts in the war. A spy's work was seldom subject to public scrutiny, and as such, he had to constantly suppress the natural desire for his sacrifices to be rewarded. That Order of Merlin would have been nice though. Maybe the Ministry would still be interested to learn the location of Sirius Black...

Shaking the vengeful and decidedly unconstructive thoughts from his head with difficulty, he recalled his surprise at Granger's attitude towards him; Snape had always assumed that her opinion had mirrored that of her two boyfriends. It was clear that there was no love lost between Potter, Weasley, and himself, although with the exception of his particular grievance with Potter, he supposed the same could be said for most of his other students as well. He knew what they all whispered about him behind his back: vampire, Death Eater, greasy git. But the girl... She seemed genuinely... concerned... for him. There was no other way to put it. Unless his ability to read others was considerably worse than he thought, and even without using Legilimency he prided himself on being rather shrewd when it came to assessing and analysing others' behaviour.

Although not normally predisposed to issuing praise for Gryffindors, even Severus had to admit that Hermione Granger was a rather uncommonly remarkable individual: academically gifted, kind to a fault, and extremely pretty to boot. At this thought, he glared at the empty glass of nettle wine in his hand. His fourth - perhaps it would be a good idea to call it a night? It was clearly starting to affect his judgement, and he needed to remain sharp in order to competently perform his extra-curricular activities. Although it was a perfectly objective observation. She had certainly matured a long way since the frizzy-haired, buck-toothed girl that had arrived at Hogwarts in nineteen-ninety one; full of wonder and an unhealthy desire to show off her already numerous magical achievements. A memory of the Yule Ball last year popped into his head, and he remembered seeing her dance with Viktor Krum. Apparently a great many eligible young men had found the witch rather attractive that evening, so it wasn't merely his own opinion. This thought mollified him slightly. Merlin forbid he was starting to develop something other than a professional judgement of the girl.

A small voice inside him asked 'And how professional is her view of you?' Thinking of the Ball had brought to mind their later meeting on the Astronomy Tower, and the way she had reached out to touch his hand on the stairs. An accident, or misguided impulse, he had assumed; she had been under the impression that he needed, or wanted reassurance. The pervading atmosphere of Christmas cheer throughout the castle had buoyed everybody's spirits at the time. The feel of her skin on his, warm in the cold air, had startled him; his reaction had been an animal instinct. And yet... she did seem to want to continue to engage him socially. She had not seemed repulsed by the sight of his Dark Mark, merely curious. Possibly another result of ignorance due to her Muggle heritage, he pondered. She foolishly thought that a few good deeds made him a good man! That would never happen. Still, he had genuinely been horrified upon seeing the transformed Lupin mere yards away from them the previous year; as his stomach had lurched, he surprised even himself by not initially being terrified for his own safety, but for that of his young charges. He had blamed his selfless, albeit futile gesture of protection on unconscious reflex, but perhaps there was something more behind his actions? As irritating as Potter and his friends could be, Snape had to admit that their continued presence at Hogwarts did make life just that little bit more... interesting. It would be a shame if anything were to befall them - any of them. Well, perhaps not Weasley...

**A/N: Hi, thanks for reading! As you may (or may not) have noticed, the chapter titles are a little vague, weird, and possibly bordering on irrelevant to the story content. Some of them may be a little familiar to you. I have amused myself with this fic by labelling them on a theme, although I doubt it's obvious, or even makes sense, to anyone other than me. Just in case anyone was confused by the headings :)**


	7. Do They Know It's Christmas?

**Chapter Seven: Do They Know It's Christmas?**

Harry eventually joined his friends at number twelve, Grimmauld Place over the summer holidays, and then all too soon they were back at school again; away from the clandestine goings-on of the Order of the Phoenix, but still aware that there were matters afoot. It was all maddeningly frustrating not to be involved when they were clearly right in the thick of things, and had been for years. Professor Umbridge's appointment to Defence teacher was equally unpopular with both her students and her new colleagues as well. Word was that the Ministry couldn't stand her either, and had packed her off to Scotland to get her out of their hair. Snape in particular treated her as if she were Thestral shit on his boots, which was the first thing he'd ever done that had remotely endeared him to his pupils. Not only was she an officious Ministry hag, but she had prevented him, once again, from obtaining his dream position teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Life. Wasn't. Fair.

He was also extremely concerned about Potter's developing mental connection with the Dark Lord. The boy had put the fear of Merlin up him during his second year when he had revealed his Parseltongue abilities. It was something that Snape had fortunately not had the opportunity to hear particularly often, but it was a thoroughly unpleasant language to listen to - even more so given the usual circumstances surrounding it, and the total inability to understand what sinister things were being communicated. His blood had run cold when he heard the Dark Lord's hissing vocalisations coming from the small, scrawny orphan that day in the Duelling Club with Lockhart.

Upon learning that Potter was now having fully-fledged visions of Voldemort's activities, he grudgingly agreed with Dumbledore that he would instruct the boy in Occlumency in order to try and stem the flow of information back and forth between the pair, deliberate or otherwise. Dumbledore himself was eager to avoid any direct interaction with the boy, lest the Dark Lord manage to get a foothold in his mind and exploit the student's proximity to Albus, although no doubt Severus was the more skilled of the two when it came to Occluding anyway, and therefore the natural choice. Unfortunately, things had not gone to plan, and the professor had ended up humiliated and angry, and likely Potter was the same. Their lessons ended, despite the Headmaster's pleas. Snape argued that Dumbledore could only foist so many indignities on him. Dumbledore returned that he was concealing most of them from the world at large on Severus' behalf already; the two men were at an impasse. They both had to hope that Snape had imparted enough information to Potter so that he might be able to resist any of Voldemort's future attempts to utilise their mental link, as and when he became aware of it.

The first term passed reasonably uneventfully for him, and they were headed rapidly towards Christmas again before anyone knew it. School broke up, although Snape remained behind for a while; reluctant to return to his home, when he could remain among the familiar, comforting walls of Hogwarts for just a little longer. Eventually of course, he had to leave. Order, and Death Eater business alike needed attending to, and it was better that he was able to be somewhere he could Disapparate and slip away at a moment's notice should he need to. He left a bottle of nettle wine on Dumbledore's desk before he left, with the note '_Albus. For your health_.' He had a feeling that the Headmaster probably preferred mead, but he would get what he was given.

Grimmauld Place was a hive of activity once again as the Weasley clan and assorted friends descended upon the building like a swarm of Pixies. The festive season had managed to cheer most of them up after the harrowing events of the previous summer, although Harry sometimes sank into a bit of a funk. His friends assumed he was still processing the event of Cedric's death and coming face to face with Lord Voldemort in his own right finally, and gave him as much space and time as he needed. Hermione busied herself helping Ginny and Mrs Weasley as they finished the clean-up of the dank house, and got on with decorating and preparing to entertain the steady stream of various guests that descended upon them over several weeks. Ginny moaned that she'd much rather be out in the frost, practicing Quidditch with Ron and the twins, but Molly would have none of it.

There was a big Christmas Eve gathering planned, and most of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were invited, although not all were able to make it for one reason or another. Snape had initially dismissed his invitation out of hand, before a niggling feeling in the back of his mind said that, actually, he had nowhere else better to be, and it would be one less hassle not having to fend for himself in terms of cooking. He could cook if required, but rarely saw the point in creating anything other than the basics needed to sustain himself. Besides, he did a stellar job of avoiding personal interactions during term-time - there was no reason why he couldn't just accept Molly Weasley's famous hospitality in near silence, and then leave before Arthur tried to drag him into playing one of those Muggle board games, or the twins pranked him by slipping Doxy eggs into his dessert or some other wretched tomfoolery. After all, he went to Grimmauld Place often enough on Order business - it wasn't like he was avoiding the house on principle. Fortunately he'd only visited a couple of times after his confrontation in the library with Black, and the Animagus had either been absent, or seen fit not to push his luck any further by goading the Slytherin, and stayed out of the way.

Apparating onto the top step at number twelve, Severus glared at the jolly wreath adorning the front door. Not only twee, but almost entirely pointless, as none of the Muggles that passed by the magically-concealed house every day would be able to see it. Still, he was sure it had kept Molly amused for five minutes, making everything look festive. Rapping smartly on the door, it opened for him and he stalked down the hallway. Not quite so gloomy as usual, there were multi-coloured fairy lights strung all along the coving, and he snorted as he saw somebody had draped a gaudy string of tinsel across the top of Mrs Black's portrait frame. The smell of roasting meat wafted towards him, and as he opened the kitchen door, a wall of steam hit him in the face. Mrs Weasley was stood in the middle of the room, pointing her wand at various pots, pans and utensils as they stirred, drained and boiled away. Seeing the Potions master, she broke into a huge smile and wiped the sweat from her brow with her apron.

"Severus! So glad you could make it dear! I'm just putting the finishing touches to dinner. I don't know where the girls are, probably still up in Ginny's room cleaning out Arnold. Do you think you could call them down for me please?" She turned her attention back to the kettle which was starting to whistle shrilly, and levitated it over to an enormous pan full of sprouts, tipping the boiling water over the vegetables and plopping the kettle back down on the sideboard in a tiny gap between all the myriad plates and bowls.

Silently wishing all Hogwarts students came equipped with an equivalent of the Dark Mark, that he might Summon them with ease when required, Snape returned to the hallway and took out his wand, pointing it up the stairs. He was certain there was a house-elf here somewhere, he didn't see why he was required to do menial tasks such as this, although he was loath to start an argument with the Weasley matriarch, at Christmas, in Black's house. Sometimes it was best to comply in order for an easy life. Besides, perhaps he could have a little fun doing it. She didn't say _how_ she wanted the girls to be called... Jabbing his wand out sharply, it emitted an enormous '_bang'_, which echoed up the stairs and across the landing. Stowing the slender ebony instrument back into his robes and folding his arms, Snape counted in his head, _'one... two... thr-'_

Upstairs, a door flew open and a shock of curly brown hair appeared over the bannister. "What in Merlin's...? Mrs Weasley?! What was- Oh, Professor!" Seeing him, her expression of alarm faded. Strange girl. Most people, upon seeing that Snape was the source of an explosion, would be _more_ alarmed, not less.

"Your presence is required in the kitchen, I believe. And Miss Weasley too." Without waiting for her acknowledgement, he turned and strode away.

Sighing to herself, Hermione ducked her head back into the bedroom she had just shot out of. "It's okay, Gin, it was just Professor Snape. I think your mum wants us downstairs - dinner must be nearly ready. Is Arnold okay? I hope that noise didn't scare him!" The purple Pygmy Puff seemed completely oblivious, and the pair stowed him safely back in his cage and made their way to the kitchen.

There were a couple of long tables, already laden with a vast array of dishes, and as Hermione started to lay the cutlery out for everybody, Mr Weasley came in with a large bandage on his head - a reminder that he was not yet fully recovered from Nagini's attack on him at the Ministry - carrying a couple of old tin cans, which he Transfigured into extra chairs for the other guests. Order members, and friends and family alike started to arrive in dribs and drabs, as if drawn to the exquisite aromas. She noticed Snape had already taken up a seat in the corner, and was sat with his arms folded, observing the hubbub around him with an impenetrable look on his face, as if he had been abducted by aliens and was studying an entirely new species for the first time. Hermione assumed he didn't socialise much. She realised that she didn't even know if he had any brothers or sisters - or any family at all, come to that. Presumably not, given that he was here, among a gaggle of his most loathed students at Christmas time. That would probably account for some of his aloofness, if he were used to being isolated much of the time. Certainly he wouldn't get much company at work, outside of his teaching time, ensconced down in the dark, damp dungeons - hardly the ideal location for entertaining... She thought his miserable, unwelcoming demeanour might, at least partially, simply be down to the Potions master being a product of his environment.

Everybody finished their meal at different times. Ron was first, naturally, despite having second and third helpings. Harry was one of the last, taking his time to enjoy Mrs Weasley's excellent spread, and silently wishing that _she_ had been his guardian for the past fourteen years, rather than Petunia Dursley. For the third time, Hermione fished out an enchanted Christmas cracker toy that had landed in her glass of Butterbeer, and flung it back across the table towards Fred and George with a half-serious scowl. The twins sniggered and patted each other on the back. Sighing at their immaturity, she looked away and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Snape was still pushing half of his meal around the plate. Leaning back and catching his eye, she spoke to him.

"Don't like sprouts? They're not normally my favourite either, although I don't know what Mrs Weasley does to them but hers are delicious!" She offered him a warm, sympathetic smile, and raised her glass - sans cracker flotsam - in a toast. "Merry Christmas!"

The corner of his lip curled slightly, although she couldn't be sure as to whether it was an attempt at a smile, or a sneer at her admittedly trite effort to make conversation. He picked up his glass taking a long sip, staring darkly into the bottom of the vessel as if he might fall into it if he concentrated hard enough, and escape this domestic hell that he found himself in. The table started to be cleared to make way for pudding, and Hermione slipped out of her chair and across the kitchen to help. Mrs Weasley was already running the washing up; stacks of plates and pans jumping from the countertop into the sink and out the other side again into neat piles on the draining board.

As she and Ginny brought over two of the biggest Christmas puddings she'd ever seen in her life, she noticed that Snape had disappeared from his spot in the corner. She wasn't sure why she was surprised; she assumed all the merriment and cheer had become too much for him(!)

After the meal finished, while casting a Hot-Air Charm on the crockery to dry it before it got packed away in the cupboards, Hermione and Ginny were chatting with Molly and Tonks, while most of the others had retreated to the drawing room to sleep off their overindulgence. Without seeming like she was particularly bothered about it, Hermione slipped an inquiry into the conversation.

"It's a shame Professor Snape had to leave early. It's a little bit odd to see him outside of school, but it's quite interesting to see what he's like when he's not teaching! Does it make him uncomfortable to be here around his old schoolmates, or was there something urgent he had to do for the Order?" There - now it just seemed like she was snooping for information on the fight against Voldemort, rather than anything more... _personal_.

Molly Weasley turned to smile at Hermione. "Oh, I'm sure Severus just had to pop back to Cokeworth for a bit." She said casually. "Although it's true - he and Sirius have never _exactly_ seen eye to eye, ever since they were all at Hogwarts together. He, Remus and James had something of a schoolyard rivalry with Professor Snape I believe. Boys will be boys, I suppose!" She continued bustling around the kitchen.

"Cokeworth?" the younger witch asked, curiously.

"Yes, he lives up north during the holidays - his parent's old place I think. Although goodness knows, you'd think Albus pays his staff enough that the poor fellow could afford to buy somewhere a little more comfortable!" Seeing the mild look of bemusement on Hermione's face she laughed.

"You didn't think Severus lived permanently at Hogwarts did you? I know Fred and George always try to convince anyone who'll listen that he sleeps hanging upside down from the rafters in the store cupboard! Poor lad... Severus, I mean. He's a very talented young man you know; I'm sure he could have had an illustrious career at the Ministry, if Dumbledore hadn't gotten his hands on him almost straight out of school. They were all so young..." Mrs Weasley trailed off and she looked uncharacteristically wistful all of a sudden, then forced a beaming smile back onto her face and wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"Anyway, that's all in the past. I'm sure they'll let bygones be bygones now they're all working together in the Order."

Privately, having seen the way the three grown wizards had interacted with each other so far over the previous few years, Hermione thought that "letting bygones be bygones" was the very _last_ thing on their minds. Boys will be boys indeed(!) It was a fascinating insight into the Potions master's history though, and went a fair way towards explaining why he was the way he was towards people. Alone, and constantly picked on by the Marauders, no wonder he had sought solace in the Dark Arts, in order to make himself less of a tempting target.


	8. Play The Game

**Chapter Eight: Play the Game**

Unfortunately for everybody, Christmas was done and dusted in a flash and soon school had resumed for the spring term. Hogwarts castle was blanketed in snow as usual, and looked quite stunning, belying the undercurrent of discontent and menace that was felt by all.

On a frosty Saturday morning, Hermione was sat in the Quidditch stands, watching Harry zooming around in a warm-up for a practice session with Slytherin. After she had been spectating a while, she felt, rather than saw, someone making their way down the benches behind her and the seat flexed under her slightly as they climbed over her row and perched next to her without saying a word. She shot a glance to the side and saw Severus Snape, dressed in his usual black robes, and wearing an emerald-green-and-silver scarf around his neck. She had a fleeting thought that he shouldn't have a cold neck anyway, as the collar of his robes came up so high.

"Sir?" _Pretend he doesn't bother you_.

"Miss Granger?" _Pretend you have no idea why she should find your presence noteworthy_.

"Pardon me, sir, but I didn't have you down as a Quidditch fan?"

"Ah, well... There is an awful lot you _don't_ know about me Miss Granger. However I merely wished to come and see my team annihilate Gryffindor... I also thought I might keep an eye on _you_, so as to avoid anybody else being set on fire again..." Her head suddenly whipped round to face him squarely, and she was astonished to notice his lips pursed in stifled amusement.

"I-" She didn't get very far denying her 'crime'. Snape held up a hand, stilling her objection.

"Relax, Miss Granger. I'm well aware of the motivations for your little stunt. Although in a rare turn of events your reasoning was faulty, I can't say that if you'd gotten the correct target that I would have had any complaint. Despite the best efforts of myself and a great many others, we seem unable to keep your little trio from continuing to get yourselves mixed up in things."

Hermione thought privately that Harry being the target of an attempted assassination, could hardly be accurately described as them 'getting mixed up in things', as he put it, but wisely decided not to argue the point. In addition, the 'events' he was referring to were Voldemort-centric events, and therefore it was almost a given that Harry would also be involved somehow! It was just sheer loyalty and stubbornness on her and Ron's behalf that meant they came along for the ride too(!)

"Bluebell flames?" He interrupted her line of thought.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'were they bluebell flames', Miss Granger?"

"Oh, um, yes it was."

"Impressive. Especially for your first year. Is it something you'd had much practice with?"

"Yes, well... Thank you, sir! Um, I guess a little... Fire comes in handy in all sorts of situations, so I made a point of learning several good spells quite early on, just in case."

"Just in case you found something you _desperately_ needed to set on fire, at the tender age of eleven?(!)" he drawled completely deadpan, even more amused now. She squirmed at the thought of being mocked by him.

"Well... Harry, Ron and I had already uh, _found ourselves in a spot of bother_ that year, so I just thought I should be prepared for any eventuality. And besides, I was twelve." Somewhere in the distance, she heard a Chaser score - she hadn't been paying enough attention to tell which team. Snape languidly crossed one long leg over the other, and shifted slightly in his seat to face her better, twisting his upper body to one side.

"Yes, you do seem to... attract the attentions of certain undesirable elements rather." _Me_, said a little voice in the back of his head, which he shushed irritatedly.

Hermione looked slightly frustrated at continuing to be blamed for being the victim in several nefarious schemes contrived by Dark Wizards. Her cheeks were flushed, and he thought it was as a result of something more than just the cold weather. His own cheek twitched almost imperceptibly in amusement at her reaction; it was rather cruel to keep taunting her, he supposed, but he had a slight sadistic streak that compelled him to take any opportunity that presented itself. Something deep in his belly flip-flopped in a manner he wasn't accustomed to. Snape leaned forward, uncrossing his legs and spreading them apart, clasping his hands together in front of him, elbows resting on his thighs, ostensibly to pay closer attention to the Quidditch manoeuvres occurring in front of them, although she thought he probably only had slightly more idea of what was going on than she did. Sport was not her cup of tea.

"Honestly, sir - we actually try to _avoid_ trouble most of the time!" Her indignation was endearing; she tucked a wayward strand of curly hair back behind her ear.

"_Clearly_..." He rose suddenly to his feet in one smooth motion. A whistle blew in the distance, and Hermione looked across the pitch to see the players were all starting to converge in the centre, zipping down to the ground on their brooms. The Snitch had been caught, she presumed; the practice game had been won.

Snape flicked his head, tossing his own wayward hair out of his face, although the wind was picking up now and he ended up with more black strands whipping across his features almost instantly. "Good game, Miss Granger. Let us hope Gryffindor put in more effort when it comes to their real match against Slytherin in a few weeks..." Spinning on his heels, he picked his way along between the benches, and made his way to the exit. Hermione watched him go, the green and silver striped tails of his scarf flailing over his shoulders behind him in the breeze. Peculiar man. But she could honestly say that she found him interesting to talk to, even if she had to work hard to avoid his barbed comments doing any real harm to her feelings. Severus Snape was a strange one indeed, but Hermione thought that she was rather starting to like him!

Just as his coattails disappeared from view, she caught herself not just watching him, but assessing the slender dark frame up and down in his entirety. She had a guilty train of thought that he cut rather a dashing figure. She wasn't one to crush on members of staff normally, or even on boys at all really - her infatuation with Gilderoy Lockhart didn't count, she told herself, mortified about the way she'd mooned over him before his charlatanry was discovered. But Professor Snape... While not classically handsome, or even handsome in any sort of way to tell the truth, he was clearly possessed of great intelligence and a sharp wit - both of which she found extremely attractive qualities in a person. Were she not on the end of a fair majority of his insults, she thought he might make her laugh rather a lot.

Hermione couldn't recall any of the other students ever expressing feelings towards Snape, other than the usual fear and revulsion, but most of the other girls in her year were rather immature compared to her and more interested in snogging the face off whoever happened to be their house's star Quidditch player at the time. If anyone _were_ going to develop feelings for a teacher though, much of the rest of the faculty were either female or dead - so in a choice that was pretty much between Flitwick and Snape, technically she supposed that made the Potions master the most eligible bachelor at the school!


	9. Another One Bites The Dust

**Chapter Nine: Another One Bites the Dust**

Over the next few weeks, (Gryffindor lost their upcoming match against Slytherin; Hermione attended, but didn't spot their rival Head of House amongst the crowds) Umbridge became even more unbearable - flouncing around the castle making everybody's lives miserable. Hermione even had a brief moment of sympathy for Sybill Trelawney when the High Inquisitor had tried to banish the Seer from the school. Umbridge's attempts to wrong-foot Snape however, hadn't managed to hit their target quite as well as she'd hoped. Goading him about his failure to obtain the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, he shot her a sarcastic retort and continued his stalking around the classroom, barking instructions at floundering students as they brewed. Hermione couldn't help but let a small smile cross her face as the pink toad swanned off in search of another victim.

Ron was sniggering too, but she suspected it was more in response to Snape being made to look foolish. He nudged her elbow conspiratorially, and she gave him a weak grin. She thought that the boys might have considered adopting the attitude of 'my enemy's enemy is my friend' in these tough times. Okay, perhaps 'friend' wasn't really the right way to describe Snape, but she thought they might at least band together in solidarity with the other Hogwarts residents against their new Ministry overseer, even if only temporarily until she had left and they could happily resume their feud with the Potions master.

* * *

Sat in a sunny windowsill in a quiet corridor on the fourth floor one afternoon, doodling idly in her Arithmancy notebook, a door at the end of the corridor banged open and she heard irregular footsteps as somebody tumbled through the opening and loped towards her. Closing her book and turning anxiously towards the noise, Hermione saw Professor Snape, cloak flapping behind him as he made his way in her direction. He had one arm out to brace himself against the wall, and he seemed to be dragging one of his legs.

"Professor?! Are you okay?" She dropped her quill and paper, forgotten, and jumped up to meet him. She received only a grunt in reply. Upon reaching her, Snape turned his back to the wall and rested himself up against it, slumping slightly and breathing hard. He reached down to grasp his thigh firmly, and Hermione noticed as he brushed his cloak away that his trouser leg was ripped, and a long section of his pale, hairy skin was on display. Or at least, it would have been pale, had a large portion of it not been covered in bright red blood. Clearly a recent injury, and potentially a grave one at that!

"Professor? What happened? Should I go and get Madam Pomfrey?" She knew a couple of healing spells of course, but she didn't know how serious it was, and while she was confident that she wouldn't end up accidentally Vanishing all the professor's leg bones in an attempt to fix him, she was concerned that his wound might still be beyond her capabilities to mend. He didn't seem like the sort of man that would forgive a less-than-perfect attempt. He grunted again, and with a great effort, drew himself up almost to his full height, still propped up against the wall for support.

"Hagrid... has _another_ bloody great dog... in the castle!" he snarled through gritted teeth. Hermione's eyes went wide. She had only a few memories of the trio's brief encounter with Fluffy in their first year, but none of them were good. "And this one... has _four_ heads!" he continued. Both his voice and face were racked with pain. He looked nauseous, but she wasn't entirely sure if that was due to the severity of his injury, or if he were merely disgusted at showing weakness in front of a student.

"Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey for you? Or Professor Dumbledore? Or-" Snape threw out a hand and grasped her arm suddenly, and she stopped talking.

"Stop the bleeding. I'll be fine. My wand... Unfortunately, I dropped my wand while making an escape from the beast." His voice was quiet, but Hermione thought he sounded the angriest she'd ever heard him. "Perform a basic Healing spell, if you would? That should be sufficient to allow me to return to the dungeons and administer more thorough treatment." His face twitched as he shifted his weight to present the damaged limb to her. Tentatively, Hermione took her wand out and approached him, crouching down slightly so she could get a better look at the wound. Snape was looking up at the ceiling, head back and muttering a string of unidentifiable words towards the heavens under his breath. Reaching out her empty hand, she carefully peeled back the shredded edge of his clothing. Letting out a hiss, Snape stiffened, and braced himself more firmly against the wall.

"Sorry, sir. I'll try not to hurt you too much, but I need to see how bad it is." Hermione grimaced, before parting the fabric again; this time Snape stayed silent. She could see what looked like at least one deep puncture wound, and a row of lacerations either side. He could well have some crush injuries, maybe a broken bone. "Tergeo!" Some of the blood vanished, and she could see his white skin starting to bruise in places. The main wound was still emitting blood in short spurts - she hoped it hadn't hit anything too major. Silently praying to any deity that might be listening, Hermione pointed her wand at the professor's leg, and cast one of the stronger Healing spells she knew. Instantly the flow of blood slowed, then stopped, and the puncture hole started to close up. Snape made a small grunting noise again, and she hoped that meant it felt a bit better than it had previously.

Magically siphoning off a bit more of the sticky red mess, Hermione reached out again and tentatively touched the wound. The skin was pink and raw, but at least it wasn't haemorrhaging any more. His skin was cold to the touch, and she hoped that was normal for him and not a sign his circulation had been compromised. Without thinking, she ran her hand around the back of his leg through the large rent in the fabric, smoothing firmly over his wiry musculature. She felt Snape jolt under her hand, and looked up to find him staring into her eyes with what she presumed was an expression of outrage. Suddenly self-conscious, she withdrew her hand and stood up, still having to crane her neck up to maintain eye contact.

"_What..._ are you doing?!"

"Just checking to make sure the spell worked okay, sir, and that you've not got any further injuries. It's not every day I have to heal magical dog bites you know!" Part-indignant (he _had_ asked her to heal him, after all!), part-embarrassed, her reaction came out more defensive than she meant it to.

"You forget yourself, Miss Granger." he said dangerously.

"No, sir, I don't think I do, with the greatest of respect! Professor Dumbledore needs you fit and well to perform your duties for the Order of the Phoenix. You asked me to heal you, and I need to make sure that I've done a good enough job!"

His eyes still narrow, Snape reached down to gingerly rub his own hands over the formerly-mangled limb. Apparently convinced that she _had_ made a satisfactory effort in healing him, he straightened up and pushed off the wall, tentatively putting weight on it until he was sure it would hold. Without looking back at her, he limped the rest of the way down the corridor.

"Accio Professor Snape's wand." Hermione muttered under her breath. After a few seconds' wait, a long, thin piece of dark wood rolled under the gap in the door from where its owner had emerged moments ago, and leapt into the air, shooting down the hallway like an arrow to land lightly in the palm of her hand. She studied the ornate carving on the handle, intrigued. She had assumed he would have had something quite plain and functional.

When Snape was almost to the door at the other end, she called out to him, "Sir?"

"_What_, Miss Granger?!" His head whipped round to face her, making his hair swing wildly. She held out his wand at arm's length. _Let him come to her and get it_, she thought. _Serve him right for being such an arse_! To her surprise, upon seeing his wand in her outstretched hand, he made no attempt to turn back towards her but she felt a sudden tug in her hand and it slipped through her fingers, sailing neatly into its master's fist at his side. Her eyes widened slightly at his use of wandless, non-verbal magic and he raised an eyebrow at her, as if daring her to make comment. She said nothing, and he swung back around and stomped awkwardly out through the door and down the staircase, his footsteps quickly fading. A mix of emotions struck her all of a sudden, and Hermione plonked herself back into her sunny spot in the window, picking up her notebook and jabbing in irritation at the paper until the tip of her quill bent.

* * *

Once safely back in his quarters, Severus sent a scathing message through the Floo to Dumbledore regarding the school gamekeeper's latest beastly acquisition, and then turned his attention to his injured leg, stripping off his trousers and boots, and giving it a thorough examination. Taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion from his own supplies, he had to admit that Granger had done rather a good job. If he were lucky, it probably wouldn't even scar. Digging through a case of glass vials, he picked out a small bottle of Wiggenweld Potion and took a sip from it, before plucking a jar of Murtlap Essence from beneath the other containers and unscrewing the lid, dipping a wad of cotton into it and sponging the solution over the newly grown skin.

A mixture of emotions tumbled around his head as he did so. Most of them were anger: angry at himself for getting into the situation in the first place, and acquitting himself so shoddily; angry at Granger being there to witness his fuck-up; angry at Hagrid for keeping the sodding thing in the castle anyway - it was probably a good job he _had_ discovered it though, rather than some unfortunate student. Hogwarts would be getting a reputation for fatalities every year at this rate! More anger at himself, for allowing himself to be so vulnerable, and then to turn round and berate the very person who had helped him - who he had asked to help him! He hated his knee-jerk reaction, but it was ingrained after so many years. He wanted to be able to just accept her kindness like a normal human being, but something primeval in the back of his brain made him shy away every time. If he didn't open up, he couldn't be hurt. His frank relationship with Dumbledore was one born of necessity, and besides, Snape had enough dirt on the Headmaster that the pair of them had mutual leverage to ensure the other's silence.

Another base instinct pushed a thought into his swirling mind: the feel of the girl's hand on his leg as she had 'examined' him. He had been both embarrassed at the intimacy, and at how he had felt about it. The touch of her warm hand had been both terrifying and electric, and he had reacted with all the subtlety of a first-year boy, as if the girl had revolted him, when really, it was _he_ who revolted himself. Her reasoning for her ministrations was sound, of course, and there was no reason to suspect that she had touched him _like that_ for any other motivation than to objectively ensure his well-being.

She had touched his hand on the Astronomy Tower that night of the Yule Ball too - perhaps she were merely a tactile sort of person who felt the need to physically reassure those in times of vulnerability. The thought of her trailing her hands over Potter or Weasley, simpering over them whenever the two dunderheads picked up a Quidditch injury or suchlike, made his lip curl in distaste. Damn it! Did he want her to care about him, or not?! He had left himself far too open to the girl and now it seemed he was, Merlin forbid, developing some sort of attachment to her, beyond the professional. Fetching a large dusty bottle from the cabinet, he poured himself a generous measure of Firewhisky, 'for medicinal purposes', and sank into his chair in the corner. In no time at all, his head had drooped forward so that his chin was touching his chest, and he was asleep; a small snore escaping through the curtain of shaggy hair that had fallen over his face.


	10. Bitter For Sweet

**Chapter Ten: Bitter for Sweet**

The rest of the school year seemed to be well on the way to Hell in a handbasket, to coin the Muggle phrase, and Snape tried extremely hard not to appear nonplussed every time some other oddity occurred. The Weasley twins were gone, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake, although like the rest of the staff, he left the mess for Umbridge to attempt to clean up. Rather unwisely, the Aurors decided to come for Albus, which unnerved him more than he'd thought, although the Headmaster had discussed with him that it might become a possibility, given the increasingly worrying leanings of the Ministry these days. Dumbledore had always been his safety net, and it concerned Severus that if even he could be forced onto the back foot, then his own position might also become rather precarious. Nevertheless, he needed to do what needed to be done, and they would all just have to persevere and hope that things turned out for the best in the end, and that Dumbledore _did_ really have a plan to see them through. After Minerva was hospitalised as well, Snape became decidedly paranoid.

Upon learning that Umbridge had caught a number of students trying to use her Floo network, he hastened to the Defence professor's office. He was not surprised to see Harry Potter standing there, flanked by Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Of course it _would_ be them(!) As Potter floundered under Umbridge's interrogation, Snape locked eyes with Granger, who had given up resisting against the Bulstrode girl and was shuffling her feet awkwardly. An unusual behaviour for her, and one that caught his attention immediately. He saw her thoughts: an image of Sirius Black; the Ministry of Magic. And a large snake. The message was unmistakeable. Clearly the Dark Lord was making his move for the Prophecy. By the time Potter had thought to give him a coded message about 'Padfoot', Severus was already planning his next move. Being as unhelpful as possible, Umbridge dismissed him, and once the office door was closed he fairly sprinted down the corridors to get a message to the Order headquarters.

It was terribly frustrating for him not to be able to get involved in the Battle at the Department of Mysteries himself, but obviously that would have broadcast his allegiance rather publically, and both he and Dumbledore preferred that Severus remain undercover for the time being. Shame. He would have relished being able to go toe to toe with some of his former comrades after all this time. Never mind, his time would come, he was certain of it. When he received the news that Granger had been gravely injured by Dolohov, he made a mental note to add Antonin to the top of the list.

He was slightly _less_ troubled to hear about the demise of Sirius Black. Not a great loss for either wizardkind or the Order of the Phoenix, he mused. Black had been worse than useless, moping about the house in London and behaving like a petulant child. He never had learned to grow beyond the self-centred, flashy wastrel of his youth.

At least Dumbledore had returned now. He had filled Severus in on the details of his confrontation with Voldemort in the Ministry Atrium, and was keeping the Potions master even busier than usual with his various schemes and jobs that needed doing in order to set things up for the inevitable showdown with the Dark Lord, or 'Tom', as the old man kept infuriatingly referring to him as.

In between running errands for Dumbledore, Snape found himself with a bit of time to kill, and as he was out of Firewhisky, decided to take a stroll around the castle and its grounds. As he passed by the hospital wing, an impulse made him push open the door and make his way into the infirmary. At the end of the row of beds lay Hermione Granger. She was engrossed in reading a copy of the _Quibbler_, but looked up at the sound of his soft footsteps. Pulling herself up the bed to sit, she plopped the magazine down on the bedside table next to her and smiled at him. The folded _Quibbler_ sprang back on itself, slithering off the table and onto the floor. Hermione ignored it.

"Hello, sir!"

"Miss Granger."

"Would you like a seat?" Casting her eyes to the chair on the other side of her bed, she noticed it was piled high with boxes of Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and other assorted gifts from well-wishers. "Oh..." Frowning, she patted instead at the blanket on the bed, in an invitation for him to perch on the mattress next to her. Rolling his eyes inwardly, Snape inhaled, sucked in his cheeks, and sat down, far enough down the bed that he was level with her knees.

"I heard you were injured. I was just passing and thought I would check... I thought I'd make sure that Poppy was sufficiently able to heal your injuries? It sounded like quite a nasty curse, from what I've heard." He hadn't been able to make too many inquiries of people, lest they start questioning his particular interest in the girl.

"Oh yes, sir. Madam Pomfrey's done a brilliant job! I'm still taking about five or six potions a day at the moment, but she thinks if I keep healing as well as I've done so far, I should be okay to go home in a few weeks."

"I see. Good. Well, it seems my presence here is unnecessary. I was wondering if you might perhaps be in need of having some further Healing spells performed. I've been brewing some of the potions that Madam Pomfrey is giving you at the moment anyway..."

"I thought you might, sir. Thank you, it's much appreciated. My parents are ever so pleased to know that I'm in such good hands, although of course I don't think Professor Dumbledore has told them _all_ the details of my injury. Probably for the best, seeing as they're Muggles and all. Would you like a Chocolate Frog?" At this non-sequitur, Snape looked to see her waving her hand weakly in the direction of the confectionary-laden chair beside her.

"Ah, no. Thank you, Miss Granger."

"Oh. Well, do you think you might...? Would you mind passing me one please? It's just... I'm not supposed to be stretching or getting out of bed at the moment. Because of the internal injuries."

Silently cursing Antonin Dolohov for doing so much damage to her - and attempting to do considerably more - Snape scowled. Realising by her slightly crestfallen look that she thought he was scowling at _her_, he abruptly smoothed his harsh features into a neutral expression, and leaned forward reaching towards a small, angular, purplish-blue box with ornate gold edging. Slipping it out from beneath two artfully stacked bags of multi-coloured jelly beans, he swivelled across to hand it to her.

"Thank you, sir. Are you sure you don't want one? Ron's already helped out a bit, but it'll take me forever to get through all this lot. My parents are dentists you see - they don't let me eat too many sweets!"

How could he resist the convalescing witch's request? Turning back to the pile, he teased out another of the Chocolate Frog boxes and opened it. The contents immediately hopped out and onto his robes, and he was forced to pluck it from his clothing before it disappeared into the folds of his cloak. Biting its head off, he gave Hermione a nod of thanks. She was nibbling at one of the legs of her own treat and shot him a breath-taking smile. "Who did you get?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your card? Who did you get? I don't collect them myself, but Ron and Harry do. I think they have pretty much all of them by now; they trade their spares with the first- and second-years in the common room occasionally in the evenings."

Squinting down at the card attached to the packaging, he plucked it out and turned it over to reveal the picture on the other side. "Dumbledore."

"Oh, Ron's got about twenty of him, he's quite a common one I think. Just as well - he's one of the more popular wizards to collect."

Snape tried not to laugh at this. If only they knew the real Albus... "And you?" He didn't want to spend any longer thinking about Albus Dumbledore any longer than necessary.

"Salazar Slytherin. We got the wrong ones really!" She laughed. "Swap?"

"Very well." Extending a hand, he held out his card, and she reached across with her own held between her fingers. Awkwardly fumbling to make the exchange one-handed, their fingers touched for a moment. This time, Snape didn't flinch. Accidental; non-accidental, he didn't much mind. This time though, _she_ did - reflexively drawing her hand back towards her body at the moment they met. Her grip was weak - the Dumbledore card slipped from between her fingers and tumbled onto the bed beside her.

Tucking Salazar into his tunic pocket in silence, Snape reached back over and picked it up. With his other hand, he then reached out and picked up _her_ hand from where she was resting it awkwardly on the bedspread. Cradling hers in his, he placed the card into her delicate palm, folding her fingers closed over it, before lowering her arm back to the bed gently. Clearing his throat, he stood. "Ahem. I'm glad you're on the road to recovery, Miss Granger. Please... don't hesitate to let me know if there's anything further you need. Medically." His gaze was as impenetrable as ever. Offering a short, stiff bow, he turned away from her cubicle and left the infirmary, his boot heels clicking rhythmically across the stones.

A little bemused, but not disappointed, Hermione wondered if taking Dolohov's curse might have been worth it after all...


	11. I Promised You A Miracle

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, you've all been so kind - this chapter's only a tiddler, so you can have two ;)**

**Chapter Eleven: I Promised You A Miracle**

Once fit to be discharged from Madam Pomfrey's care, Hermione returned home to spend the rest of the holidays with her parents. The damage from the Purple-Flame Curse had taken a while to mend completely and she was under strict instructions from the Healer to 'take it easy', which to Hermione, sounded like the perfect excuse to spend another month or so with her nose stuck in various spellbooks.

She also received her regular subscription to the _Daily Prophet_, and while her parents' patience was wearing a tad thin with the endless stream of owls that appeared at the kitchen window every morning, it did at least allow her to keep tabs on what was going on in the wizarding world while she was stuck in the Muggle one. To be fair though, it seemed the boundaries between the two were starting to erode, as articles in the _Prophet_ revealed some of the Muggle news items to be the work of Death Eaters and other allies of Lord Voldemort. Hearing about the Brockdale Bridge collapse in particular, had sickened her - the war was already spilling over onto an oblivious population who were woefully ill-prepared to defend themselves. She couldn't say she was saddened to hear of Minister Fudge's sacking though, given their past dealings with him, although she was quietly cautious to see what his successor, Rufus Scrimgeour, would be like.

* * *

Sat in his gloomy parlour, surrounded by mouldering books, Severus Snape was engrossed in reading today's _Prophet_ from cover to cover. Particularly nauseating, the front page was a large spread on the Death Eaters' attack on the Brockdale Bridge. He was glad that at the present moment he was still required to lead a life of behind-the-scenes skulduggery - on both sides - and had therefore not been pressed into service and required to commit such heinous acts of violence. Against defenceless Muggles, no less.

He had no particular love for the non-magical, however he had long ago relinquished his youthful adherence to philosophies of blood-purity and wished them no ill-will - much as you might leave well alone a nest of Bowtruckles that was minding its own business. Lily herself had come from a Muggle family, and there was no doubting her talent and good nature. He eternally cursed the ideological temptations of his childhood that had led him on his path to reject her. His mind flitted briefly to another young, talented Muggle-born witch.

He'd not had much time over the summer to stop and contemplate how he felt about Hermione Granger, and truth be told, he was uneasy about being back at Hogwarts around her when term began. He hoped her recovery from her injuries had gone well, but of course he had hardly been able to enquire with Albus or Minerva if they had any news(!) The old man certainly would have raised an eyebrow - those piercing blue eyes would probably have bored into him and divined in an instant, a clearer image of Severus's own feelings than he even had himself. McGonagall perhaps would not have been quite so perceptive, however she would at least be suspicious of Snape asking after the welfare of one of her Gryffindors, when he normally only cared to know enough about students from houses other than his own in order to dock points from them.

Hearing a muffled knock at the front door, he called in a clipped tone, "_Wormtail_!" There was scurrying on the stairs, then the slow creak of the front door opening, and into his living room stepped the unlikely figures of Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Folding up his newspaper slightly irritably, he stood to greet his guests, nodding to the blonde. "Narcissa... _Bella_..." The older, crazier Black sister scowled at him darkly and he returned the glare with a neutral expression of his own - all the better to antagonise her. Lestrange disgusted him at a base level; her sycophantic adoration for the Dark Lord was beyond the pale. She couldn't even blame it on her years of incarceration in Azkaban driving her round the twist either, as she'd been just as manically sadistic before her capture by the Aurors. Bella was dangerous, certainly, but Snape had, and did, get the better of witches and wizards who were her equal and more. As long as he remained calm and in control of the situation, there would be no risk. "What a pleasant surprise."

Fortunately the pair didn't seem to want to linger in Spinner's End; soon Snape was able to sink back down into his chair and let out a long breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He glanced down at the paper on the table next to him, but couldn't quite summon the interest to pick it back up. Dumbledore's plans were starting to come to fruition finally, it seemed. He realised the Unbreakable Vow he had just made with Narcissa sealed his commitment - not just to Draco, although he would have done his best to try and help the boy in any way he could anyway - but to Albus' insane idea that Snape should be the one to bring about the Headmaster's demise.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he thought back to that night he had been summoned to help Dumbledore resist the effects of the ring's curse. How the old fool had even thought it might be a good idea to wear one of the Dark Lord's treasured possessions in the first place was utterly beyond him - Albus must have taken leave of his senses! Perhaps it was a good idea that Hogwarts would be under new management by next year after all! At well over a hundred years old, it seemed he might be losing his faculties at last...

Whilst formulating this ridiculous game-plan, Dumbledore had also foisted upon him the duty to take care of the school in his absence. Snape would be without his only mentor and trusted confidant. And on top of his already numerous jobs as Head of House, Potions master, soon-to-be Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Order member and Death Eater, he was now supposed to add 'Headmaster' to his résumé! Albus must think he had all the free time in the world(!) Severus knew that whatever happened over the following year, one way or the other, life would never be the same again - not for him, and possibly not for the entire wizarding world.

He could only hope that Dumbledore had accounted for all eventualities, because after he were gone, if things all went horribly south, there would be no recourse. He would be unable to rejoin the Order after they found out what he had done, and there would be no possibility of explaining his actions to them, no-one to support his testimony. The Dark Lord would fall, or everything else would...

* * *

Hermione was still glowing over her OWL results (although still a little peeved by her single 'E' in Defence Against the Dark Arts) when Harry joined them all at the Burrow at the end of the holidays. He was still disconcertingly quiet on occasions - probably thinking about Sirius' death and the gap that would leave in his life, she thought. Harry had very much enjoyed having a magical relation of his own with whom to correspond during term-time, and she felt immensely sad for him to have had that torn out from under him so soon. Inheriting Grimmauld Place and Sirius's other possessions would be little comfort, and probably even a painful reminder of what he _didn't_ have.

Perhaps to distract himself from his grief, Harry seemed worryingly preoccupied with thoughts of Draco Malfoy, and was bordering on the obsessive about the fact he believed the Slytherin boy had followed his father Lucius in becoming a Death Eater. Although she didn't say as much to her friend, Hermione had the opinion that having a Dark Mark might not necessarily mean he had joined You-Know-Who's cause - Professor Snape for example had one, and he was no more a Death Eater than she was! After seeing his father go to Azkaban and be punished by the Ministry, it was no surprise that Draco might have decided to show willing in order to protect himself and his family from further reprisals from either side.

She wondered what Snape had been up to since she had last seen him? Now the Ministry were finally recognisant of the fact the Voldemort had returned, no doubt they were making efforts to combat the growing power of the Death Eaters and their allies. She hoped they wouldn't impede Snape's efforts too much - clearly Dumbledore valued his work for the Order, and he wouldn't likely stop giving him duties just because the Ministry had a couple of Aurors on the job as well. Shacklebolt was certainly very competent, but he would never be able to obtain a position like the one Snape had at the heart of the enemy's camp. With a pang of something that might have approached concern, or even affection, she turned her attention back to packing her trunk for the trip to King's Cross.


	12. Dead Ringer For Love

**Chapter Twelve: Dead Ringer For Love**

Cleaning Harry's bloodied face up after his _eventful_ arrival at Hogsmeade and the Sorting Feast via the sole of Draco Malfoy's boot, Hermione noted Snape's promotion to Defence Against the Dark Arts with interest. Well if anyone here knew the Dark Arts...(!) Chastising Harry mildly for wishing harm upon the professor, but not wanting to upset her friend further, she glanced up to the teachers' table where he was sitting next to Dumbledore, looking as bored as ever, as if it were just another year with nothing out of the ordinary, comparatively speaking. Hmm, they would see about that, she supposed - perhaps the rumoured jinx wouldn't affect him, seeing as he was perceived by Voldemort as an ally. At the very worst, he might just decide he preferred teaching Potions after all, and vacate the DADA position voluntarily...

Snape also chose that moment to look up, and just for a second their eyes met across the room. She thought he might have given the smallest nod in her direction, then he rested his chin in his hand lazily, running a finger across it in contemplation, then turned to Professor Flitwick who was seated next to him, and said something to the diminutive Charms teacher. Hermione's gaze remained on Snape for another beat or two, but he didn't look back at her, before she too turned to the friends at her side. Ron was shovelling down a rather greasy-looking chicken drumstick and she winced. She thought his appetite might have been stunted slightly after a whole summer of being force-fed by Molly Weasley, but it appeared not. If anything, it had merely prepared him to take maximum advantage of Hogwarts' fine spread.

Lessons began, and not a moment too soon. Hermione was eager to move onto a NEWT-level syllabus, and also curious as to what Slughorn would be like as a teacher. Thanks to Harry's sudden new proficiency in Potions, aided by the 'Half-Blood Prince's' notes, her opinion of Horace Slughorn wasn't that high - surely anyone could see that Harry wasn't coming up with all these ideas on his own?! Not wanting to steal her friend's limelight, but annoyed and also rather concerned about the safety of following the Prince's writings, she had to say that actually she had preferred their lessons with Professor Snape! No doubt Harry was grateful to have a sympathetic teacher this year though, who didn't pick on him mercilessly and treat him like an imbecile. She would let him have his year of being teacher's pet for a change...

The first class with Slughorn had been an interesting one, not only because of Harry's rampant cheating and subsequent winning of the bottle of Liquid Luck. She had been reluctant to say what it was that she smelled in the cauldron of Amortentia, not least because she wasn't quite sure herself. Regardless, she certainly hadn't wanted to divulge her most intimate desires in a room full of Slytherins, that was for sure! The potion had definitely reminded her of parchment, that much was true: an inky, musty smell that was simultaneously unmistakable and deeply comforting. Who wouldn't have expected Hermione Granger to dream of parchment she mused wryly, able these days to mock her own bookishness. There was also something slightly tangy, almost bitter. Perhaps a potions ingredient of some sort that she'd used in the past, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. And a leathery smell, like worn-in shoes. Not unpleasant, obviously, but perhaps a slightly odd selection. She worried that somebody else in the room might have been able to decode the reasons for her choices better than her, and so had tactfully given an answer that had both delighted Slughorn, and retained her privacy.

At least Harry had the Felix Felicis anyway, and not Malfoy. It might come in useful at some point in the future. Maybe there was something in Harry's concerns about the Slytherin's behaviour after all; she had seen the greedy look Draco had shot towards the prize when he heard what it did. Anything Malfoy wanted to be lucky at was probably not a good thing, Death Eater or not! Hermione wasn't actually too upset about missing out on the prize herself - she believed that for the most part, you made your own luck in life. She was just a bit miffed that she had come second to somebody whose only real talent at making the potion happened to have been reading someone else's work...

Outside of their lessons, all three were as friendly towards each other as usual, and Hermione went along to watch Ron and Harry at the Quidditch tryouts for that year. As she subtly cast a Confundus Charm on Cormac McLaggen to ensure Ron didn't lose his place as Keeper, she felt the bench shift underneath her in an all-too-familiar way, and with a lurching stomach, she turned to face Professor Snape.

"Well, well...! Confunding the competition are we, Miss Granger?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and a healthy dose of mock-outrage. "Hardly necessary, I shouldn't think! Even for a Gryffindor, McLaggen is _spectacularly_ dim-witted. If I didn't know better that he were trying out for the position of Keeper, I'd say he was on the pitch because they'd been using his head for a Bludger(!)"

Snape's lips twitched in a malicious smirk. Hermione could see Cormac on the pitch, dismounting from his broom and shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, before puffing himself up and smarming about in front of some third-year girls that had evidently come to cheer him on.

At Snape's (entirely accurate) accusation, her face flushed red. "He would have missed that one anyway!" she mumbled. She decided to brazen it out, and shifted to face the Potions master, locking eyes with him and fractionally raising her chin in an air of defiance. As she did so, a small shiver went down Snape's spine - the weather was on the turn, he told himself. Must be time to break out his winter cloak.

"Indeed... Anyway, Professor Slughorn tells me he's asked you to join his so-called 'Slug Club'?"

"Really, sir?" Her defiant attitude abruptly melted away, and she was suddenly equal parts curious, and pleased as punch.

"Ah. I thought he'd already broached the subject with you, my apologies. I strongly urge you to accept though, although I doubt you would have turned down anything approaching academic recognition anyway(!) I can vouch for Horace's little parties as being well-worth attending, and occasionally rather enjoyable."

"You were in the Slug Club too, sir? When you were at Hogwarts?"

"Does that surprise you? Do you think I'm so old that I couldn't possibly have been taught by some of your teachers myself? Or perhaps you think I'm not _sufficiently_ gifted at Potions(!)" She wasn't quite sure whether his faint air of indignation was genuine or not. He stared down his long, hooked nose at her, his black eyes as unreadable as ever.

"Oh, no sir! Not at all! I know you're the same age as..." She trailed off, not particularly wanting to mention any of Snape's contemporaries, as nothing would probably please him less than to think of them - nor to discover exactly how much she _really_ knew about his old schoolyard rivalries. "Uh... you're not that old at all. In fact, I think you're probably one of the youngest professors that's ever been appointed at the school?"

"Did you get that from '_Hogwarts: A History_', Miss Granger?(!)" He tapped his foot absent-mindedly against the leg of the bench, glancing fleetingly across the Quidditch pitch at the tiny red figures moving around like ants beneath them, before shooting her what could only be described as a smile. "I hear it's one of your _favourite_ tomes?"

If she hadn't already been blushing from his earlier comment, she would have done so again. "Oh, probably... There's so many to choose from, but seeing as I'm Muggle-born it's been quite useful to get me up to speed with the wizarding world. So many things that magical people just take for granted, hearing stories from their families, that I'd had no idea even existed for the first eleven years of my life! I'd always had a passion for education, so I guess that just transferred over when I started here?"

Snape blinked, startled, as he initially absent-mindedly heard her words as 'passion for _educators'_, before chiding his normally regimented mind for going off on such a wild tangent. He knew enough about Muggle psychology to wonder if there wasn't something a little Freudian behind his mistake. Damn it - he had known that it would mean trouble once the girl returned to the castle. She was fast becoming a distraction, and he didn't need one of those at the best of times, never mind when they were on the verge of war and he required a clearer head than ever. _Still_...? No! But her curiosity was probably only matched by his own, and he wondered briefly how she actually perceived him. Professor - certainly. Grumpy professor - almost definitely! Order member, spy, former Death Eater... Her attitude certainly seemed to be one of acceptance, despite all she had seen and heard of him.

Meeting each other in passing at Grimmauld Place had allowed certain informalities to creep into their... relationship, if that was the right word? And he had the distinct feeling that lines had been blurred, possibly on both sides. Though he was no fool - she might see him as a sympathetic figure, an ally, maybe an intellectual companion, but _she_ wasn't stupid either - living in a castle with over a hundred teenage boys, the chance that she felt anything other than polite interest towards _him_ was laughable. He told himself he wouldn't want her to anyway, not altogether sure he totally believed it. But she'd come here to watch Weasley play, by all accounts - even risking punishment by jinxing that nitwit McLaggen. Not at all like the good little Gryffindor image she had nurtured so far. If that was the extent of her teen rebellion, then the school was probably quite safe though.

His lip curled at the thought of her fawning over the little ginger idiot, as if she were nothing more remarkable than the rest of her peers, mooning over the latest floppy-haired moron in Witch Weekly. Somehow Hermione Granger had always seemed as if she were above such low-brow interests. Why fawn over boys when there were books? Severus thought wryly maybe he was projecting his own attitude onto her.

Since Lily, he'd never been interested in another witch. He could appreciate them objectively of course: Narcissa Malfoy, for example, was a rather attractive woman, but Severus felt nothing towards her beyond that simple observation, as if she were a particularly pretty pot plant. Besides, what he'd felt for Lily had been more than physical. And yet... Time heals all wounds - he was sure Albus had trotted out that particular aphorism on more than one occasion. To begin with, he hadn't wanted it to be true. He _wanted_ to hurt; to pay for his sins; to mourn his loss. He had to admit that over the years though, he thought of her less frequently than he used to. He loved her still of course, and always would, just as deeply as when she had been alive. But he had a purpose now - his atonement had given him something other to focus his energies on, and the pain wasn't quite so fresh and raw as it used to be. It fuelled him, but it did not rule him.

Lily Evans would forever remain that perfect young woman, unable to grow old or have the innocent lustre of her personality fade. He envied her that slightly. He hoped though, that his capacity to develop healthy interpersonal relationships had developed slightly now that he was a grown man. Personally, he felt far older than his thirty-six years, and probably looked it as well, he thought ruefully. Pomona had made a joke the other week about getting him some of that Muggle face-cream for the burgeoning dark circles beneath his eyes, and had threatened to whip him up something of her own creation from the contents of her greenhouse. A single glare had put paid to that little jape. His own appearance had never given him much cause for concern - he was well aware that he was less than blessed with good looks, and therefore didn't see the point in trying to enhance what little he had. Abruptly realising that Granger had stopped speaking a while ago and was watching him intently, he cleared his throat and cocked his head at her, pushing thoughts of misheard passion from his mind.

"Well, despite coming from a Muggle family, it's apparent that you've managed to catch up your peers and then some. It really makes no difference you know, academically speaking. Few first-years from magical families have more than a cursory knowledge of basic spells when they arrive here. Muggle-borns merely have to familiarise themselves with the peculiarities of magical culture."

"I think it's safe to say I'll never get used to broomsticks, no matter how long I spend in the wizarding world!" She laughed.

Snape had seen her use a broom on several occasions, and it seemed that, like him, she was a competent enough flyer, but was merely not a fan of that particular method of travel. He rather preferred to keep his feet on the ground whenever possible. Memories of the occasion he had volunteered to referee Potter's Quidditch match to stave off Quirrell's pathetic assassination attempts came to mind, and he suppressed a shudder. He'd brewed himself up a Draught of Peace just prior to the game, and taken just a sip or two beforehand to steady his nerves. He had considered Firewhisky instead, but as Dumbledore had been observing too, and there was a Dark Wizard to keep an eye on, he hadn't wanted to dull any of his senses. Acknowledging her admission with a nod, he reassured her.

"There's plenty of other options for transportation available, I doubt that's likely to cause you a problem in the future. You'll be taking your Apparition test this year, I should imagine?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a little worried about it though. I've been doing some reading-" He couldn't help but roll his eyes a little at that, "-and there's so many horror stories about Splinching! I'm not sure if I want to attempt it..." She sat there, chewing at her lip anxiously.

"Miss Granger, as I'm sure a great many other people have told you over the years, you are one of the brightest witches of your age, with a superb grasp of both theory and practical techniques. I hardly think you of all people have anything to be worried about a test for." Frustrated at her obvious lack of self-confidence, he reached out and very gently cupped his fingers underneath her chin, tilting her face around and up to look at him. He heard her draw in a quiet breath, and held her there just for a moment, his black eyes staring as if he could impart his words to her by mere power of thought. He looked at her very seriously.

"There are dark times ahead, Miss Granger. Despite your young age, it is almost inevitable that you will be involved in the fight - indeed, you have already been far more deeply involved than a great many members of the Order. However, given my observation of your abilities and character, I can safely say that if I were to choose any witch or wizard from the school to assist Mister Potter in the war, it would be yourself." Suddenly aware that he was still touching her face, which had grown warm at his praise, he released her and sat back slightly on the bench, as if the tiny increase in physical space between them might also afford him some emotional distance as well.

Expecting her to look shocked, repulsed, or at least unnerved by his sudden uncharacteristic display of compassion, he saw that she was instead, smiling broadly at him.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" _How typical, she was fixating on him telling her that she was intelligent_! "Do you really think so? I mean, Professor Flitwick said he thought I would do fine, but it means more coming from you of course..."

Snape wasn't quite sure what she meant by that. Filius was a very fine wizard, and even he respected the diminutive Charms master's opinion when it was offered. Perhaps his own more severe countenance lent him a superior air of authority in her eyes. About to reiterate his reassurance, he was slightly taken aback as she sprang to her feet beside him, wrapping her robes closely around herself.

"Looks like they've finished." He glanced down at the Quidditch pitch, and sure enough, it looked like the Bludgers were finally being wrestled back into their case with the other balls. "Thank you again, sir. Will I see you at Professor Slughorn's dinners?"

"Ah no, I don't believe I would have the time to attend, given my schedule this year, even if he were to invite me as a member of staff. Horace's get-togethers are more about networking with up-and-coming talents at the school anyway, I doubt he would get much out of conversing with a former pupil who didn't quite manage to ever leave Hogwarts and has been stuck teaching the same subject for a decade and a half. I'm not sure I quite run in his glamorous circles. A great disappointment to him, I'm sure, given my youthful potential."

"Oh, shame. Never mind, I'm sure you won't miss much. He used to be Head of Slytherin house before you, didn't he? I wonder if he knows my parents are Muggles?"

"He was my predecessor, yes. While Professor Slughorn may be a trifle vain and, dare I say it, maybe even sycophantic at times, he is a wizard possessed of sound moral fibre. He was until recently in hiding from the Death Eaters over fear of reprisals - he has no love for fanatics of blood-purity and will not discriminate against you for your heritage, that much I can assure you."

"I- Excuse me for asking, sir, but are you-? Are you a Muggle-born as well then?" As soon as the words came out of her mouth she regretted them. The odds of the Head of Slytherin coming from a Muggle family were probably astronomical. She hoped he wasn't offended.

Something approximating a wistful smile appeared on his lips, and he looked up at her. He had no shame about revealing his ancestry. "No, Miss Granger. My _father_ was a Muggle, it's true, however my mother was a witch. Nevertheless, there were one or two of my contemporaries in the Slug Club who were of non-magical parentage. Some of _them_, were his most favoured students." He was disproportionately pleased to see her frown disappear, and then she had turned and started to skip lightly down the steps of the stadium.

"Thank you, sir. Again. I'm sure it'll be a lot of fun!" Throwing him another warm smile over her shoulder, she rapidly descended away from him as she went to rejoin her friends on the pitch. Ginny Weasley came over and the pair hugged. Snape eyed up the Weasley girl's brother, ridiculously padded up in his Keeper's kit to the point the professor wondered how the boy could walk, much less fly, however the redhead made no attempt to copy his sister's gesture. Perhaps rumours of Ronald's interest in Granger were unfounded. He told himself his interest in such things was purely professional - necessary only to maintain discipline among the students. Jealousy was certainly not a motivating factor. Not at all...


	13. The Life of the Party Has Left the Build

**A/N: So I'm sure it's boring the tits off you all thanking you constantly for your kind reviews, but I'll do it again ;)**

**To the keen-eyed Guest Reviewer who spotted my use of JKR's response to being asked what Snape smells of: well done! :) Also, to answer your question, a "(!)" indicates sarcasm or irony. So you'll almost certainly be seeing a lot more of those, mostly from Sev haha!**

**More cute interaction/development between our pair here in this chapter - I have "borrowed" a scene from the film which always makes me laugh.**

**Chapter Thirteen: The Life of the Party Has Left the Building**

Snape had to admit he was struggling with Malfoy. Under pressure from Dumbledore to keep the boy from doing anything silly, and from Narcissa to help him do exactly the opposite, under pain of death, he thought he might have actually bitten off more than he could chew finally. He was filled with rage after Katie Bell had been cursed, at the sheer irresponsibility of the boy's actions.

Draco must be getting desperate, and desperate people made mistakes - it would not do. Potter's uncharacteristically accurate divination of the culprit had also annoyed him. Fortunately Minerva was as equally displeased at the boy's casual accusation of his nemesis without any proof whatsoever, so he had managed to direct attention away from his house. For the moment.

* * *

Despite enjoying her attendance at the Slug Club dinners, Hermione's mood had soured in general soon after, due mostly to Ron's ridiculous snit after finding out she had kissed Viktor Krum several years ago. She was still in two minds as to whether to continue talking to Ginny, after she had let news of Hermione's previous romantic experience slip to her brother! Not that she was ashamed of course; Ron was probably just jealous because he had a bit of a man-crush on the Bulgarian Seeker.

Much to her disgust, he had then started snogging Lavender Brown. She had no designs on Ron for herself of course, but _Lavender_ of all people! At least she was a Gryffindor, but she had to be the most annoying, vapid person Hermione had ever met. She had never really had much to do with the other girl, given that they were almost total opposites in every way, but just hearing her simpering tones of '_Oh, Won-Won_!' as she made her way through the corridors to class was enough to make her nauseous.

* * *

Over the past few weeks, Snape had noticed that Granger seemed to have had a falling out with Weasley. He couldn't say he was disappointed in this development. The boy was hardly a good match for the intellectual young witch - he probably thought Felix Felicis was a person(!)

Slughorn's Christmas party was approaching, and despite being a former member he had still been surprised to receive an invite. He hardly thought Horace would have even remembered his appearances there with Lily all those years ago. Sat in the staffroom one afternoon, warming himself in front of the roaring fire and reading an article in a _Quibbler_ that someone had left on the table amongst a pile of quills, confiscated Zonko toys, half-finished mugs of tea and other assorted detritus, the man who had taken over his job as Potions master had clapped him on the back and told him he 'simply _must_ attend'! Not particularly looking forward to the social engagement, but having nothing better to do, Snape had reluctantly agreed. Dumbledore was going off on one of his secretive little travels at the end of term anyway, so he could probably use the opportunity for an entertaining diversion.

At the party, following their introduction by the host, Severus had escaped from a stilted conversation with Sanguini at the earliest possible opportunity and resumed his stalking around the outskirts of the party, observing everything with his customary intense silence. It wouldn't do to be seen consorting with a vampire, given the rumours that he knew already circulated about himself.

Seeing Miss Granger across the other side of the room, he reflexively took a step towards her, uncertain as to what he would actually say, but unable to simply ignore her. At that moment however, the McLaggen boy approached her and handed her a tall glass of something sparkling, which Snape fervently hoped was Bubble Juice and not anything stronger. He stopped dead in his tracks. She didn't look entirely pleased to be in the smarmy wizard's company, which mollified him slightly. Obviously Potter had his own invite, and if she and Weasley weren't currently on speaking terms then perhaps she had just picked him at random to bring as her plus one. He wondered if she had told him that he had missed that save at Quidditch tryouts due to her jinx - somehow he doubted it. He let out a small snort of amusement.

He was less amused, a moment later, as the young pair made their way across the room and McLaggen suddenly looked up. There was a large bunch of mistletoe hanging from the ornate golden lamp above their heads. Luckily his hands were in his robes at that point in time because Severus, upon deducing the boy's intentions, had clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned deathly-white and his fingernails made bloody marks in his palms.

Celestina Warbeck started playing on the gramophone across the room. '_I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love, and it's bubbling for you...!'_ Snape had always loathed that tune, although it had been one of his mother's favourites. Eileen Prince had rarely been able to enjoy anything magical at home thanks to Tobias's hatred for it all, but she had often played the song while Severus's father wasn't around, sometimes singing it to him at night before bed or around the house as she cleaned. Perhaps that was what had kicked off his interest in Potions, he mused, all those lyrics about cauldrons and spices? Re-emerging from his reverie, he saw McLaggen had seized Granger by the shoulders and was mashing his mouth up against hers indelicately. The witch appeared to have been taken by surprise, and had her hands braced against the boy's chest in futile resistance. Snape's lip started to curl ever so slightly.

Just then, Sybill Trelawney staggered past him clutching a goblet of what might have been mead, but was probably sherry. The vacant-eyed Seer bumped into his arm, sloshing some of her drink over his sleeve. Recoiling from her without a thought of going to help her regain her balance, he brushed irritably at the droplets on his robes and glared at her, although Trelawney was already tottering away, seemingly unaware of their collision. Luckily, the black wouldn't stain...

McLaggen was now grasping the back of Granger's head with a slimy paw and her hair was looking distinctly mussed - even more wild than usual. Just as he was about to stride over and start docking house points for impropriety, another boy - a seventh-year Ravenclaw, he thought - approached and dug Cormac in the ribs with an elbow. The boy disengaged from his assault on Granger and turned to his new companion. The two boys started chatting, and Snape was both amused and pleased to note that the girl immediately took the opportunity to make a hasty retreat into the crowd behind her, disappearing among the decorations and party-goers. A not-inconsiderable part of him was relieved to see that she clearly hadn't enjoyed her house-mate's attentions.

Remembering that he had a message to pass on to Potter from the Headmaster, Severus scouted around for the mop of unruly black hair that must surely be nearby. While searching, he noticed McLaggen, who had clearly finished his banter with the other boy, had also been looking around. Watching him disappear behind one of the sheer, green decorative hangings strung from the ceiling between a couple of pillars, Snape went to follow after him, thinking to berate him for his conduct. As he reached the curtain however, he heard the boy talking on the other side. To Potter. Hesitating to interrupt them, he stayed lurking around the corner, just out of sight.

"Slippery little minx, your friend! Likes to work her mouth too, doesn't she? Yak, yak, yak... What is this I'm eating, by the way?"

Snape had heard enough of the boy criticising Miss Granger's intellectual love of discourse and swept through the curtain, making Potter jump in alarm, he noticed with satisfaction. Almost immediately however, McLaggen doubled over in front of the professor and vomited spectacularly all over his highly-polished boots. Staring at the revolting little cretin as if he might be able to Vanish him - and his regurgitations - through mere willpower, he spoke in a hard, clipped tone.

"**You've just bought yourself a month's detention, McLaggen. Not... so quick, Potter!"** Snape beckoned to the dark-haired boy, who was attempting to make a stealthy exit while the professor's attention was elsewhere.

After he had passed on Dumbledore's communiqué to Harry, he retreated to another dark corner where he cast a swift Evanesco on his befouled footwear. A small hand came up from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. It was Granger. Turning, he looked her up and down, the first time he had seen her up close since arriving at the party. She was wearing a delicate pink dress which left her shoulders bare, and accentuated her curves in all the right places. Hoping she took his assessment of her to be a result of his surprise at her sneaking up on him, he bowed very slightly to her, bending at the waist. "Miss Granger..."

"Hello, sir! I don't suppose you've seen Cormac around, have you? Cormac McLaggen? I just... _escaped_ from him earlier, but I'm sure he'll still be looking for me. I brought him along as my date- my plus one."

"I don't think you need concern yourself with McLaggen, Miss Granger. Suffice it to say that I have just come from speaking with him and Mr Potter, and I should think the pair of them will be most keen to avoid bumping into me again for the rest of the evening." '_If you want to avoid him, stay with me_' a little voice in his head implied, but remained unspoken. At this news, the girl suddenly brightened, and emerged fully from her cover behind one of the many decorative drapes that Slughorn had festooned about his quarters for the party.

"I think I'll be safe enough just to nip and get a drink then. Those dragon tartares were really quite spicy!"

She had exotic tastes, for a Muggle-born. Snape held up a hand instructing her to remain where she was, and swept immediately away through the small crowd in front of the nearest table of refreshments. He didn't need to squeeze through the throng, as they all seemed to part magically in front of him. Hermione suppressed a smile. Six-foot-two at the very least, and dressed as normal in head-to-toe black, if she hadn't gotten to know him as well as she had over recent years then she might have been intimidated by the sight of him too! Swiftly returning holding two goblets, he handed one to her.

"Firewhisky, sir?" she asked cheekily.

"Mead. Mulled, I believe. I can fetch you something else if you prefer. Butterbeer perhaps?"

She took a sip of the hot, amber drink and nodded her approval at him. "It's nice!" She clasped her hands around the goblet to warm them, cradling it securely.

He raised an eyebrow at her, and sipped tentatively from his own steaming cup. "And _what_ would a young Gryffindor such as yourself know about _Firewhisky_?"

She laughed into her mead, trying not to splutter it everywhere. "Don't worry, I haven't developed a secret drinking habit to cope with my NEWT studies, Professor - I was just pulling your leg!"

Snape sipped at his drink again. This was the first time they'd had a friendly conversation in such a public place. He was pleased to see that that it meant she wasn't ashamed to be seen chatting to him, although it wouldn't really do his reputation much good unfortunately. He could always claim he was using her to feed him information on Potter, he supposed. That might keep anyone undesirable off his back - it had worked for over fifteen years when he said the same thing about why he continued to hang around Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore following the Dark Lord's downfall, after all.

Changing the subject, he waved a hand in the direction of the table from where he had just retrieved their drinks. "Have you eaten? Other than canapés? I believe I saw some pumpkin pasties over there a moment ago. And a yule log, among other offerings."

She dipped her head and smiled to herself. Was Professor Snape actually asking if he could fetch her dinner? He'd have to watch himself, lest people started to believe he had a heart after all! "No, I'm fine thank you Professor," she replied.

"Very well. Has Professor Slughorn managed to show you off to all his old acquaintances yet? _'Harry Potter's friend, the Brightest Witch of her Age'_?" He gave her a look that suggested he was unimpressed with his successor's fawning over high-achievers, raising his eyebrows in a mix of disapproval and a hint of poking fun at her studiousness.

Hermione had the notion that it might actually have been the first time she'd ever heard the Potions master utter Harry's first name out loud. Curious. But then, he'd never called her 'Hermione' either. McGonagall and Dumbledore occasionally used their first names, more often when they were alone rather than with all the other students. A man as consistently uptight and formal as Severus Snape though, would probably see no reason to let down social barriers under any circumstance.

'_Severus'_. His own name gave her a little frisson of excitement as she said it in her head. It suited him, although she was sure she'd never dare use it to his face. Somewhat dignified, but aloof. Severe. She'd never even call him that in private though. Chatting with the boys, he was lucky if he even got called 'Professor', never mind 'Snape'! It was usually 'evil, greasy git', 'bastard', or 'sodding Slytherin'.

She'd tried on many occasions to encourage them to address him in a more respectful manner, but she might start raising suspicions if she started going round waxing lyrical about her leisurely chats with 'Severus'! Raising suspicions about what exactly, Hermione thought? Was there something about their relationship that she was ashamed about? That needed to be concealed? Certainly nothing mutual, she knew that. She did concede though, that perhaps her feelings about the professor might have mutated somewhat recently. Whenever she would catch a glimpse of him in the corridors, or his cloak brushed her hand as he swept past, something in her stomach made a little jump. Damn it - Hermione was starting to get the horrible thought that she had _feelings_ for him! Not that there was anything wrong with him as a man (and quite frankly she was starting to think that a man was what she needed - she was fed up to the back teeth with _boys_!) apart from his sarcastic, miserable demeanour, occasional cruelty, less-than-conventional looks... She stopped herself. It was too dangerous to start weighing up the pros and cons of Snape as a person, lest she get herself into hot water.

Belatedly, she realised her companion had the ability to - as Harry had once so ineloquently put it - 'read minds', and unable to help her reaction, whipped her head up to look at him. She knew eye contact was important for Legilimency, even for one as talented as Snape, and just at the last minute she jerked her gaze away from his eyes, which were looking straight at her. Hoping she wasn't blushing too badly, and praying he would put it down to embarrassment at the complimentary title he had used for her, she answered his question.

"Yes, sir. Well... I've met a few of the old Slug Club members, that is. Mr Worple seemed quite fascinating, although he was more concerned in talking to Harry to try and get permission to write his biography. Sanguini was... _interesting_..."

The uncertain look on her face told Snape that she had probably noticed the vampire's lingering attention on the décolletage of the various young women in attendance at the party. He scowled darkly at Slughorn's laxity in allowing the creature into the school, guest or otherwise. Mind you, he himself wasn't completely impervious to the effects of Miss Granger's glamourous attire either, albeit for slightly different reasons. Her hair was still a little mussed from McLaggen's groping, despite her continual efforts to smooth it, and he had to admit it gave her a slightly sultry appearance.

He was worse than the blood-sucker, he chided himself. At least it was in Sanguini's nature to be predatory. Snape was a man (a wizard, no less!) and should have - did have - far better self-control than that of any half-breed beast! Smirking at her in agreement with her opinion, and ignoring her insistence that she really wasn't hungry, he Summoned a couple of plates, flagged down a passing waiter and acquired a handful of mini pumpkin pasties and an assortment of other party-food that was on offer.

As Hermione nibbled reluctantly on the corner of a rather over-stuffed pasty, trying to stop the bright orange filling from dropping out down her dress and onto the floor, she and Professor Snape continued chatting. After a short while, she had asked him about something for her homework for Professor Slughorn's Potions class that was due the following week, which had prompted him to recommend she peruse a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_. Upon her revealing to him that she'd already read it a few years ago, several times, both of his eyebrows shot up, and she looked nervously at the floor. They both knew it was kept in the Restricted Section and as such, was not normally available for the younger students to study at Hogwarts.

"Well! That explains your proficiency with Polyjuice Potion then, Miss Granger...? I've no _idea_ how you managed to get access to that particular volume, but clearly-"

Hermione never got to find out what was 'clear' about her getting hold of illicit reading material, as Snape's attention was suddenly drawn by a commotion across the room. She could hear Filch's gnarly voice complaining vociferously about something. Distracted, Snape put his plate down on a small table beside him without looking and glided away from her in a swoosh of black, without so much as a backwards glance. She could make out the top of Malfoy's blonde head in the crowd, and deduced he'd been trying to snoop on the party without an invite. Hopefully Snape wouldn't manage to let Draco wriggle completely out of any punishment, she thought fervently. Harry's rabid and frankly baseless insistence that he was a fully-fledged Death Eater was maybe a little strong, but there was no doubt that he was up to _something_ this year...

Feeling slightly bereft at being abandoned mid-conversation (by _Snape_, of all people!), she finished up the last of her pumpkin pasties and decided to slink away somewhere less prominent, lest Cormac return for her and catch her under another bunch of mistletoe. Looking up, she suddenly realised that there was one such plant hanging right next to them, less than a foot away from where Snape had been standing before he left. Hermione was slightly startled, alarmed and ashamed to realise that this thought elicited a little thrill in her. Yes, the way she saw Professor Snape had most definitely undertaken a dramatic change recently...


	14. Poison Prince

**A/N: Another couple of borrowed lines here. Things start to head south at Hogwarts. Our Potions master and his students face mortal peril. You know how it goes...**

**Chapter Fourteen: Poison Prince**

Hogwarts broke up for Christmas, and Hermione wished that she'd gone to join the boys at the Burrow. She had a pleasant, uneventful holiday, if that was the sort of thing you liked, but it was a very _Muggle_ Christmas, and to her eternal shame she found it all a bit pedestrian, sat at home with her parents, opening presents that didn't explode, speak or otherwise do anything of any particular note. To be fair, they had gone out of their way in their efforts - her mum had given her a beautiful greenish-black Augurey feather that she must have had to go to Diagon Alley to find. Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her that it would be useless as a quill, due to its natural ink-repelling properties, but smiled warmly and thanked her mother regardless.

On returning to school in the New Year, she had been horrified to hear the details of Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback's devastating attack on the Burrow. Harry was continuing his lessons with Dumbledore, and gaining more insight into Voldemort's history from the Pensieve memories, which he shared with his friends as he formulated a plan for how he should approach Slughorn to try and obtain the professor's real memory of his encounter with Tom Riddle.

Buoyed by Snape's words of encouragement the previous term, Hermione was making great progress in their new Apparition lessons, much to the boys' annoyance. The best Ron had managed so far was Splinching a toenail, and they'd heard about nothing else since he'd returned from the Hospital Wing with his foot in bandages, hopping about the common room.

"I tell you - that Apparition instructor? I'm going to Splinch _him_ if he doesn't give it a rest...!" Ron ejaculated angrily.

Hermione barely looked up from her book (the copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ that she'd recently borrowed from Professor Snape, seeing as she wasn't allowed to remove Madam Pince's edition from the Restricted Section). Peering over the top of it briefly, she tutted.

"Honestly, Ron! _Destination, Determination, Deliberation_ \- it's not hard!" She sighed, and went back to reading. Ron glowered at her through the cover of her book, pulling faces at Harry to show he thought she was being unnecessarily snooty about it.

She had felt bad, not long after, when he had eaten Harry's Love Potion-laced chocolates on the morning of his seventeenth birthday and been subsequently poisoned by Slughorn's celebratory mead. After dashing to the Infirmary to meet Harry and Ginny, and sitting by Ron's bedside with them, she looked up as a group of professors made their way into the room and started to discuss the circumstances around the accident. Dumbledore took the mead from Slughorn, gave it a cursory examination and passed it over to Snape, and he in turn passed the neck of the bottle under his nose like a sommelier examining the bouquet of a fine wine. He must be incredibly well-learned to be able to identify poisons by scent, she thought. The Potions master then held the bottle clasped in front of him, and looked up to stare at her at the bedside.

Hermione was then slightly appalled to see Lavender Brown arrive in the hospital wing as well, and even more irritated when the girl finished cooing over her friend lying prone in the bed and turned on her.

"**What's **_**she**_** doing here?!"**

"**I might ask you the same question!"** retorted Hermione, hotly.

"**I **_**happen**_** to be his girlfriend!"** shrilled Lavender.

"**And I happen to be his... friend." **Beside her, Ron croaked her name weakly.

"**Her-my-nee... Hermione..."** Suddenly self-conscious, and rather embarrassed, she jumped up. Lavender had caught his words though, and dashed from the room in tears. Hermione looked up to see if the other occupants of the room had heard. Slughorn was shuffling about awkwardly; Dumbledore looked almost droll. Snape's face was a blank mask, his eyes still fixed on her, unblinking.

"**Oh, to be young, and to feel love's keen sting."** The Headmaster broke the uncomfortable silence.

She thought she saw just a flicker of something on Professor Snape's face just then, but couldn't put her finger on what it was, or even if it was anything at all. She blinked, and his demeanour was wholly inscrutable once again. Leaving Ron in Ginny's capable hands, she and Harry left the hospital wing together and returned to Gryffindor Tower.

Snape hoped that his carefully composed neutral expression hadn't faltered upon hearing the old man's words. '_Love's keen sting_' indeed! He felt faintly nauseous, although he couldn't quite determine why exactly. He'd felt 'love's keen sting' in his own youth, and could vouch for the pain it wrought. A prickling, niggling feeling picked away at him though, and he got the impression it was related to something a lot less ancient than his unrequited adoration for Lily Potter. He squashed it down hurriedly. He was not the only gifted Legilimens in the room, and it wouldn't do for Albus to find out his prize Death Eater was experiencing a moral crisis. The Headmaster already had enough qualms about trusting him, seeing as the Potions master '_spent so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort_', as he'd put it! Snape tried not to be insulted.

He put his own life on the line each and every time he went to the Dark Lord's call, concealing his own thoughts and feelings. If he could do it so well for his own secrets, he didn't see why Dumbledore had any less faith that Snape could hide the details of the Order of the Phoenix's plans from his other master, if he were privy to them, just as efficiently! But Albus wouldn't be swayed. All the same, the old man maintained his insistence that Snape needed to stick to the plan. Curse the old fool - he'd get them all killed, with his crackpot machinations and stubborn, blind faith in the abilities of a bunch of dunderheaded teenagers.

Unsurprisingly to everyone but herself, Hermione passed her Apparition test with flying colours, and was excited to get her licence at last. She had already turned seventeen at the start of the school year, and was revelling in the increased freedom afforded to her with regard to practicing magic. Not that she'd ever really held back from furthering her magical education in the past though - permitted or otherwise. Ron had failed (by Splinching his eyebrow this time) and he tried valiantly to hide his annoyance with Hermione for sailing through it so effortlessly. Privately, Hermione would have rathered that he just sulk again for a bit, and get it out of his system. He'd spent most of the year in a funk with her, for one reason or another, so it probably wouldn't make much of a difference she figured. Ronald Weasley was a simple wizard - unsophisticated and lacking the ability to express himself in a healthy manner. She remembered chastising him the previous year for having '_the emotional range of a teaspoon_', and it seemed to her that things hadn't improved all that much now that he was - on paper at least - an adult.

Harry's mission from Dumbledore to obtain Slughorn's memory took a rather odd turn after he drank the Liquid Luck potion. Magic sometimes worked in mysterious ways she reminded herself, as she watched her best friend march out of the castle, attend the funeral of a giant, murderous spider, and get drunk with a couple of professors. Also in a stroke of good luck, Katie Bell returned from the hospital wing after getting cursed by that deadly opal necklace. Slightly _less_ luckily, Harry then went after Draco, still believing him to be responsible, and managed to gravely injure the Slytherin with one of the Half-Blood Prince's stupid spells. Hermione encouraged him to hide the textbook to make sure nobody else could ever exploit, or fall victim to the dark magic contained within its margins.

She was still making efforts to try and discover the Prince's identity, but had hit something of a wall and couldn't think where else to look. Not that it mattered really, she supposed. 'Prince' almost certainly didn't denote any sort of connection to royalty, seeing as the wizarding world had none. 'Half-Blood' had turned out to be of very little help either. There were a great many half-bloods who had passed through the doors of Hogwarts over the years. Harry was a half-blood - so was Lord Voldemort for that matter, going by the information she had gleaned from Harry's lessons with Dumbledore about his investigations into Tom Riddle's past. And the spells being dark in nature wasn't all that surprising either. Plenty of half-bloods were Sorted into Slytherin, despite the house's emphasis on blood purity. Even the Head of Slytherin house, Professor Snape-... She paused, remembering.

He'd told her during the Quidditch match, "My _father_ was a Muggle, it's true - however my mother was a witch..." Her investigations had uncovered only one witch named Prince who had studied at Hogwarts in recent times: Eileen Prince. Trying to picture the _Daily Prophet_ clipping she had appeared in, Hermione thought. She'd been a thin, dark-haired girl, with sallow skin. She drew in a breath sharply. What if... Perhaps Eileen Prince was Snape's _mother_? She was certainly about the right age, and the book was old enough to have originally belonged to her while she was at school here... Maybe Snape had inherited it from her and made his own annotations? Racking her brains, she tried to remember the handwriting in the textbook. She had thought it looked vaguely familiar, but had never quite been able to place it. Spiky, and slightly feminine. Silently chiding herself, she realised that it bore more than a passing resemblance to the instructions that were often found on the chalkboard in the Potions classroom. For the last five years, she'd seen Professor Snape write on that board with his wand at the beginning of every lesson, and yet still it hadn't clicked! _He_ was the Half-Blood Prince! That explained the slightly dubious effects of some of the jinxes then... The man made almost no effort to disguise his ongoing interest in the Dark Arts, and she knew he had once been a fully paid up member of the Death Eaters: she had seen his Dark Mark on several occasions.

Now in possession of this new information - she was sure she was right, she _had _to be - Hermione felt a great weight lift from her. Her continued failure to find an answer to the author's identity had been niggling away at her. Harry would not be pleased with her theory, she knew. He near-idolised the 'Prince', although he had lost a little of his shine since Harry had discovered the effects of the Sectumsempra curse. Hermione nearly smacked herself in the forehead. Who had come to Draco's aid, and healed him of his wounds? Snape! Who better to fix the damage from a spell, than its own creator? Certain now that she was correct, she resolved not to tell her friend unless it became relevant. Harry was already mentally stretched to breaking point at the moment, and it wouldn't do to upset him further. Besides, the book was now hidden, and Snape's spells could do no more harm. She might have to find a way to let him know of its location in some way though, although she herself didn't know precisely where in the Room of Requirement Harry had concealed it.

Ginny had chosen that particular moment in time to reveal her feelings for Harry, and while Hermione was glad it was now public knowledge and the pair of them could get on with it having danced around each other for so long, she was uncertain how his budding romance with Ron's sister would affect the group's dynamic, or Harry's ability to think rationally in the future. The Weasleys were already despised enough by Voldemort's followers for being blood-traitors, and she was nervous that a closer relationship to the Boy-Who-Lived would put them at further risk, and leave Harry with another weakness to exploit.

Before he left with Dumbledore on the hunt for another of the Horcruxes, Harry had given her the vial containing the rest of the Liquid Luck. She hoped they wouldn't have to use it. Sneaking around the castle in the dead of night, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious that might be a sign that things were afoot, she and Luna had stationed themselves outside Professor Snape's office - half out of reluctantly following Harry's instruction to keep an eye on the Potions master in case he tried to do anything underhand in the Headmaster's absence, and half out of the feeling that if anything _did_ happen that night in the castle, that it would be a good idea to have a member of the Order of the Phoenix nearby with whom to join forces.

After who-knows-how-many hours, Hermione had lost count, the door to the dungeons flew open, and the diminutive Professor Flitwick appeared, sprinting down the hallway towards Snape's office. He didn't even look at the girls, before flinging the heavy wooden door open and launching into a fevered dialogue with his fellow Head of House.

"Death Eaters! Death Eaters, Severus! In the castle!" The door had banged shut but bounced open again slightly in the Charms master's haste and Hermione and Luna could hear him squeaking in alarm.

"You must come and help!" A few seconds of silence, presumably Snape was replying to him in his usual calm, measured tone, and then there came a loud 'thump' from inside the office. Suddenly the door flew wide open again and a whirl of black hurtled out. Drawing himself up at the sight of the two sixth-years in front of him, Snape fixed Hermione with a firm stare. Even in the gloom of the dungeons, she made out a violent twitch of his cheek, before he spoke.

"Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood. Professor Flitwick has suffered a collapse of some kind in my office. Perhaps overcome with anxiety. Please tend to him, and make sure he gets to the infirmary. I am required elsewhere. The Death Eaters have breached the castle and I must go and help fight." He started off down the corridor again at a dead sprint. Hermione and Luna looked at each other puzzled, before nervously passing through the office door and going to aid Flitwick. They didn't notice as Snape cast one last look back over his shoulder at them as he ran, just before he left the dungeons and made his way up to the main part of the castle.


	15. Fall Victim

**Chapter Fifteen: Fall Victim**

_Death Eaters! And ruddy Albus was off gallivanting about the countryside with Potter! What rotten timing..._

Snape fairly flew down the corridors, his hide boots beating rhythmically on the stone floor. He made his way to the Astronomy Tower. The other Order members stationed at Hogwarts had not been taken completely unawares and had made a great effort to contain the invaders. Still, a few had evaded the furious fighting and had slipped up to the Tower, where somebody had cast the Dark Mark. No doubt if Dumbledore was on his way back, seeing the Mark in the sky over his school would draw him in like a moth to a flame. Snape only hoped he was in time to intervene in whatever was unfolding. Draco was undoubtedly involved - finally his efforts must have paid off. Snape made a note to be gentle with the boy, if any physical restraint were necessary to stop him doing anything foolish.

A small voice in his head said 'it might be _you_ doing something foolish tonight, if Malfoy somehow manages to catch Dumbledore unawares'. Severus had the sickening feeling that the promise of his Unbreakable Vow might soon be coming into play. It was too soon. He had resigned himself to the fact that Dumbledore wanted him to be the architect of his own doom, and the curse he had suffered in the summer made it almost inevitable anyway, but he hadn't been prepared for it to happen just yet. In the best outcome, he would probably be forced to flee Hogwarts forever. With the Headmaster dead even if the Death Eater invasion were routed, nobody would take very kindly to having a sallow, bat-like cuckoo in the school nest...

On the other hand, if the Death Eaters won... It didn't bear thinking about. What would be the point of him continuing to work undercover there, if he could even manage it at all under Voldemort's control, without Albus there to pull the strings and direct everybody in his game plan? He could not in good faith stay and participate in the depravity that would surely follow. Snape had it on good authority from both sides that the Ministry was as good as useless these days, or would be shortly, due to increasing efforts on the Dark Lord's behalf to infiltrate and corrupt it. They would be no help in the upcoming conflict, that much was certain. But then again, he had also promised Dumbledore that he would continue to help protect the students, so far as he could. He had certainly tried earlier, sending Miss Granger and her friend to the infirmary with Filius, in the hope that they would stay there until the battle was over. Growling to himself under his breath as he ran, Snape rued the day he had ever taken the sodding job of Potions master!

Taking the stairs to the Astronomy Tower two at a time, dodging through a hail of curses flying backwards and forwards between the Order and a group of cornered Death Eaters, Snape barely registered the battle around him, and flung himself through the middle of the skirmish and carried on up the staircase through the cursed barrier. Drawing his wand, he emerged out onto the top of the tower, the cool summer night air ruffling his cloak and chilling his face, warm from his exertion. What followed was possibly a contender for his worst-ever memory. It was indeed time.  
**"Severus... Severus... please."**

"**Avada Kedavra!" **He only managed to cast the spell because he knew that the Headmaster had to die. Wanted to die. Otherwise, he would have had neither the mental strength, nor the intention behind the incantation to give it any power. Yes, he truly wanted to kill Albus Dumbledore. But only because it was the best option out of a bad bunch. His rage at the position he found himself in fuelled the curse. Fervently hoping that the old man had interpreted the situation accurately, and that his plan would work, Snape fled the castle with Draco and the other Death Eaters. They were crossing the grounds and almost at the boundary when Harry showed up.

Parrying a few of the boy's pathetic efforts, Snape put the bare minimum into duelling him. Thankfully, the Dark Lord had given orders that no-one other than himself was to lay a finger on Potter. It gave Snape a convenient excuse for not harming him, and also defending him from the occasional overenthusiastic effort of his dark comrades. A small part of him had flinched when Lily's boy had tried to Cruciate him, and he managed to prevent him from completing the spell, sparing him from sullying his soul any more than necessary. Having Potter whip curses at him reminded him uncomfortably of James's many attacks years ago, and he couldn't help himself as he felt an unconscious surge of anger which drove him to taunt the boy as he effortlessly held him at bay. He knew he shouldn't feel smug in giving Potter a good thrashing; that the boy wasn't his father, and it didn't compensate in any way for all the times when Snape had come off worse against James and his friends, but he did it anyway. He was having a very bad night.

"**Kill me like you killed him, you coward-"**

"**DON'T... CALL ME COWARD!"** he bellowed, the accusation hitting a nerve. Disgust, loathing and hatred at the injustice, all frothed rabidly inside his brain, and with one last swipe of his wand at Harry, he turned and sprinted for the school gates, and a temporary escape from the nightmare he now found himself in...

* * *

Hermione had managed to make her way from the hospital wing through the school, ducking curses and firing off just as many of her own as she encountered pockets of fighting all over the place. Spotting Harry at the end of one corridor, she called out to him, but he was too far away, and was tearing determinedly down the hallway in pursuit of someone, by the look of things. Deciding to follow him, Hermione dashed to the main entrance and out of the front door, down the path leading across the grounds. She could see flashes of light in the distance as several groups fired hexes back and forth between each other. Making her way carefully in the dark, she increased her pace to try and catch up with her friend, breathing hard as she ran.

One of the figures at the back of the group of fleeing Death Eaters stopped and turned, and she gasped as she saw a dark billowing cloak and realised exactly who it was: Professor Snape. Harry threw a flurry of spells at the Potions master, but then she saw her friend knocked to the floor. Her heart in her mouth, she hurled herself down the grassy slope, hoping she'd get there in time. She could hear indistinct shouting as the two battled on. Harry had been sending jets of red and white light in the professor's direction. As far as she could make out though, Snape had yet to return a single curse towards Harry.

"**DON'T... CALL ME COWARD!"** She was close enough now to make out the words, especially as Snape had suddenly bellowed them in a furious rage. Startled, she skidded to a halt and stared at the pair, her breath caught in her throat. All of a sudden, Snape looked up in her direction, his head whipping around as if he'd spotted her there in the darkness. He fixed her with a stare for just a second or two, and she thought she saw a dozen unidentifiable emotions flash across his features in an instant, before he turned on his heel and sped away from them, after the other Death Eaters and towards the school boundary, where he Disapparated, and vanished from sight.

When Harry told her, through pants of exhaustion and rage, that he had just seen Snape cast the Killing Curse on Dumbledore at the top of the Astronomy Tower, she thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He also confirmed that the professor was the self-styled Half-Blood Prince, although that didn't come as so much of a surprise to her. Surely, _surely_, he had to be wrong about him murdering the Headmaster though? Snape wouldn't... couldn't do such a thing. A small voice in her head nagged at her, '_He's a Death Eater... he betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort and told him about the prophecy_.' Snape was an accomplished Occlumens, for sure. Could it be possible that he was good enough that he had completely fooled Albus Dumbledore regarding his true allegiance all those years? Her heart said no, her mind was wavering. She started to cry, both thinking about the Headmaster's untimely death, and at the conflict she felt about the Potions professor.

Her despair only increased when she and Harry had taken a look at the locket that he had brought back from the cave with Dumbledore, and discovered it to be a fake. Researching 'R.A.B.' in the library, she again came across the newspaper clipping featuring Eileen Prince. Knowing she wouldn't rest until she knew the truth, she did a little more digging and found announcements of her marriage to Tobias Snape, a Muggle, and one for the birth of their baby boy, Severus, dated early January nineteen-sixty. Thinking about Snape became too painful for her, so she tidied the clippings away and went back to her hunt for the Horcrux saboteur's identity.

Later she gently broke the news to Harry that Snape had been Eileen Prince's son.

"**I should've shown the book to Dumbledore," said Harry. "All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was, too-"**

"'**Evil' is a strong word," said Hermione quietly**, her mind churning.

Albus Dumbledore's funeral had been a sombre affair. Hermione couldn't help but think that perhaps the man himself would have preferred something a little more whimsical, despite his many obvious intellectual contributions to wizard society over the last century or so. Any minute she'd expected him to pop out from somewhere, ghostly-pale, and tell everyone not to take themselves so seriously; that death was but the next great adventure, and would anybody like a sherbet lemon?

The ride back home on the Hogwarts Express afterwards had been equally subdued. She met her parents at King's Cross - they were aware that the Headmaster had died, but as Muggles who had never even met Dumbledore, they couldn't quite grasp how his loss had affected their daughter.

* * *

Also just as subdued, Snape had retreated with the rest of the Death Eaters to Malfoy Manor. Crushing down the growing feeling of nausea that had started when Flitwick had woken him what now seemed like a lifetime ago, he Apparated to the gates and made his way in, the beauty of the rural Wiltshire property completely lost on him. Presumably the Ministry would be looking for them - things weren't quite in place yet that the magical government was completely under the Dark Lord's control. Spinner's End would not be safe to return to, for the time being. He had no particular desire to ever return there to be fair, although he would miss his extensive magical library, which had been something of a labour of love to grow over the years since he had inherited it from his parents.

He wasn't sure whether it had been a good idea to confess his identity as the Half-Blood Prince to Potter or not, but he hadn't been able to help himself. Partly curious, partly spiteful, he had allowed the boy to keep the Potions textbook - despite knowing he must be in possession of it to have discovered his spells including Sectumsempra - without turning him in to Dumbledore.

Thinking of the Headmaster made the sick feeling roil in his stomach again, and he tried hard to Occlude his thoughts to give him a better clarity of mind. In truth, he had been intrigued to see what Potter would make of his annotations. Intrigued to see if Lily's son truly possessed even a fraction of her talent and passion for the subject. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he had hoped the boy _did_ share her ability; that he contained within him something of the woman Severus had loved so dearly; that Harry would have made her proud. He didn't dare think what Potter now believed him to be. A murderer; a cold-blooded killer of the one man Harry revered above all others in the wizarding world - in the entire world.

And Hermione Granger... He had been both surprised and displeased by her appearance as he had fled across the Hogwarts ground with the Death Eaters. She was supposed to be safe, tucked away in the infirmary with Flitwick and the Lovegood girl, away from the fighting. He supposed that at least he knew she _had_ made it through the castle safely, and there was likely to be no immediate danger to her once he and his 'companions' had left.

Unfortunately, he knew that like himself, Potter had a lot of work to do in the coming months, and he had a feeling that Granger and Weasley would most likely dive headfirst into whatever plans the boy made to continue the work Dumbledore had started, in a show of loyalty and Gryffindor foolhardiness. Or maybe the trio would just go home for the holidays and forget all about Horcruxes and leave it all up to Snape. He didn't hold out much hope for the wizarding world if that were the case. He was but one man, and Dumbledore had seen fit to only provide Snape with the bare minimum information in order for him to play his part.

He remembered the conversation he'd had with Albus about the boy's fate, and his heart sank. Potter would die. Even if the Dark Lord was defeated - especially if the Dark Lord was defeated. It was inevitable - necessary even, according to Dumbledore. Then again, if he truly was a vessel for part of Lord Voldemort's soul, perhaps that might be a blessing. He scowled darkly at the thought of Lily's progeny being tainted by the touch of his dark master.


	16. The Headmaster Ritual

**Chapter Sixteen: The Headmaster Ritual**

Hermione didn't relax much over the summer holidays - she had acquired several books from the Hogwarts library which she spent hours poring over, trying to formulate a plan for their upcoming hunt for Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes, with the scant information they had available. Her parents had luckily left her to it, assuming she was ensconced in her room wallowing in misery after the tragic events of the previous term. She had finally perfected an Undetectable Extension Charm on a small beaded bag, in which she had started to stash various bits of equipment, potions and other items that might prove useful.

She was also grateful for the space her parents' afforded her, due to the fact she had been doing a lot of research on Memory Charms. When she left for the following term, she didn't want to take the risk that Voldemort might finally gain a foothold in the ranks of authority, and she had a feeling that as a Muggle-born and a friend of Harry Potter, her parents might make a rather tempting target for the Death Eaters to use to try to manipulate her. Australia would be far enough for them to be safe, she reasoned.

Hopefully 'Wendell and Monica Wilkins' would have a marvellous long holiday in the sun, and return to Hampstead in a few months' time with a fabulous tan and no idea that they had been in the middle of a vicious war. Assuming Hermione was around to find them to return their memories and bring them home, that was. With a pang of sadness, she realised that if for whatever reason she _didn't_ come and find them, at least they would have no clue that they were missing a daughter, and would carry on their sun-kissed life blissfully unaware. She felt selfish for wanting them to mourn her loss, and gave herself a very stern talking-to. Dumbledore surely hadn't been prone to such trivial thoughts of family while he had been orchestrating the fight against Voldemort she told herself, and although she would never be the great wizard's equal, she tried to draw some strength from her memory of him and the way he had conducted himself.

* * *

It was a lonely few months that Snape passed, often staying at Malfoy Manor out of necessity. Bellatrix still eyed him with suspicion - even after all he had done to cement his place as a loyal Death Eater - although her sister and Lucius were more welcoming. Lucius was not in a particularly strong position himself however, following his liberation from Azkaban. The Dark Lord took great delight in belittling him and his family whenever possible, and Snape had the distinct impression that the Malfoy patriarch would have traded places with almost anyone to get out of the situation he found himself in: a second-class citizen; a prisoner in his own home. Voldemort had taken his wand for his own, and turned his opulent house into a dull, dank squat for his followers.

The Dark Lord now had enough of a foothold in the Ministry for him to have arranged for Severus to take up the post of Headmaster at Hogwarts, despite a couple of objections, and Minerva McGonagall having taken on the role in the interim since Albus's death. It wasn't something he was looking forward to, but it gave him the best position from which to observe all the goings on and to try to limit the damage the Death Eaters might do at the school. It wasn't the way he'd have liked to appear on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, but he'd had to grit his teeth and do his duty. At least he wasn't photographed from Azkaban like Black, which given recent events, had been a real possibility at some points.

Slipping through the heavy door of the Headmaster's office, he'd seen that everything was as Dumbledore had left it. He would make no changes to the décor - people would probably put it down to his lack of interest in physical appearance, rather than any reverence for the previous incumbent, he hoped. Albus had assured him that the office would admit him once he attained the post, unlike when Dolores Umbridge had usurped his position briefly a few years ago, but Snape had still held his breath in anticipation as he made his way up the stairs past the stone gargoyle.

Once ensconced in the office, portrait-Dumbledore had chatted with him at length, and they had agreed that Severus would provide certain details to the Death Eaters in order to prove his loyalty, whilst simultaneously giving covert assistance to the Order of the Phoenix. Confunding Mundungus Fletcher in a seedy tavern had been easy: the disgusting little sneak-thief had one of the weakest minds Severus had ever had the displeasure to manipulate. He wondered if Miss Granger might be the one to brew the Polyjuice they would need. Certainly her brewing skills were more than up to the task.

One particularly unpleasant evening he had found himself sat at the Dark Lord's right hand side, watching Charity Burbage rotate slowly over their heads, beaten and terrified.

"**Severus... please... please..."** He wanted to vomit, flashbacks to the night Dumbledore had died at his hand. He forced his expression into one of blank indifference at his former colleague's plight. Wanting to scream at the unfairness - he could no more leap up to defend her in a room full of Death Eaters than he could teach a Flobberworm to tap-dance, lest they _both_ perish - Voldemort had murdered her without a second thought. Yet another person Snape had failed to save.


	17. The Leaving Song

**Chapter Seventeen: The Leaving Song**

Hermione left the house, closing the front door on the living room where her parents sat, slightly glassy-eyed as they came out of the stupor caused by her Memory Charm. She made her way to Surrey, Apparating onto the front lawn of number four, Privet Drive. Once safely inside, and taking a swig of Mad-Eye Moody's Polyjuice Potion (it tasted just slightly better than goblin piss), she changed her clothes with the other Order members who were gathered there, and put on a pair of large, round, and very strong spectacles.

** "Harry, your eyesight really **_**is**_** awful!"**

Mounting a Thestral with Shacklebolt-Harry, they sped off into the darkness.

The resulting ambush by the Death Eaters had taken them slightly by surprise. Their efforts to evade Ministry detection had clearly failed somewhere along the line. She was dismayed, upon landing, to learn that Moody and Hedwig were dead, and George was grievously injured.

While the Order recouped their strength at the Burrow, Hermione continued with her Horcrux research, and also buried her nose in the copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ which Dumbledore had left her. She was sure it had to be of utmost importance, knowing the Headmaster, or why would he have left it to her. Surely not simply for her love of books, as he had said?

* * *

Swooping through the darkness on a broomstick, Snape's gaze swept back and forth, checking for potential dangers and targets. When they had pounced on the Order's convoy, he had started to dart around between the combatants in an effort to run some sort of covert interference. Seeing Lupin about to fall victim to a curse, he aimed a swift Sectumsempra towards the Death Eater, and swore under his breath as the jet of light sailed just past the cloaked figure and hit one of the Potters in the side of the head. He hoped it wasn't Granger. Or the real Potter, come to that, and even if it wasn't, that the wound wasn't too serious. Just then, he had to dodge another jinx that came at him from the side, and their prey was gone.

Using his many contacts and wiles, he later found out that Corban Yaxley had paid a visit to Miss Granger's parents. Fortunately they had seemed to have moved out shortly beforehand, and the Ministry scumbag had left empty-handed. Snape had been relieved, both personally and professionally, that the Death Eaters had been unsuccessful in exploiting the pair of Muggles, and the undoubted torture that would have befallen them should the Dark Lord's minions have gotten their hands on them, to get to Granger. Yet another example of how low they'd stoop to achieve their ends - going after a couple of dentists!

* * *

Bill and Fleur's wedding was a brief distraction from the challenges Hermione and her friends would all surely face soon. She wondered how the returning Hogwarts students would fare under the new management. Snape had been appointed Headmaster, which undoubtedly meant Voldemort was poised to take over the Ministry in its entirety if he felt confident enough to come out of hiding again. She wondered what he had been doing these past months, and scanning through someone's copy of the _Daily Prophet_, she though he looked rather more gaunt than usual: the black-and-white photo showed dark circles under his eyes as he crossed and uncrossed his arms solemnly from the front page, staring out at her implacably. A small shiver went down her spine. She wished she knew how to send a message via Patronus, although any contact with him would surely put the both of them in danger. She just couldn't help believe that he was still working on Dumbledore's orders somehow though, despite being his executioner.

When Kingsley's lynx Patronus had arrived and told them of the Ministry's fall, she had double-checked her beaded bag, grabbed the boys, and Disapparated to the first place she could think of. As they scurried down Shaftesbury Avenue, the three of them ducked out of the brightly-lit streets and into a small café. Somehow the Death Eaters had found them and after realising one of them was Antonin Dolohov, the wizard who had cursed her in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione hit him with an extra Body-Bind Curse, just to make sure, and stomped hard on his groin while he lay incapacitated on the ground. '_All's fair in love and war'_, she told Harry and Ron, who were staring at her in astonishment as she turned away from her prone victim.

Despite the boys being wary that Snape might still be able to gain entry to Grimmauld Place, and also might have revealed its existence to the other Death Eaters now that he was a Secret Keeper following Dumbledore's death, they Apparated to number twelve and made themselves as at home as was possible under the circumstances. Hermione spotted a portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, a former headmaster of Hogwarts, and realising that there was a corresponding portrait of his hanging in the school office, she shrank it, and stowed it safely in her bag.

"Just in case he overhears us talking and reports back about our plans," she told Ron and Harry, when they questioned her. Privately, she also though she might be able to use it as some sort of communication method with Professor Snape somehow, to try and determine what his motives were. She would have to tread very carefully though, she thought. He was skilled enough to have deceived either Lord Voldemort or Dumbledore for many years, so she wasn't entirely sure if she would be able to trust anything from him anyway. The way the war twisted them all, had made them into different people - suspicious, guarded people - saddened her.

While the boys and Kreacher rustled up some breakfast one morning, from the meagre offerings in the kitchen of number twelve, Hermione went for a wander around the house. Climbing the stairs to the top floor, she pushed open the door to Sirius's bedroom and stepped in. It was incredibly dusty, but there were lots of sweep marks on the floor as if someone had been dashing about and things had been pushed around. There were books and bits of paper on the floor; a one-winged Snitch had rolled into a corner. Clearly somebody _had_ been here, unless Sirius's normally well-to-do appearance had concealed a personality of a slovenly hoarder.

"_Dear Padfoot,"_ A piece of parchment on the floor drew her attention. A letter from Harry's mum to her son's godfather. A relic from happier times. She tucked it into her back pocket to give to him later. Conducting a more thorough search, opening cupboards and looking under the bed, she also found half a photo that had slid under a chest of drawers. Putting it in her pocket with the letter, she stood and looked around the room. On top of the chest, something caught her eye. A small, dark stone. Smooth, and mottled brown, she frowned as she realised what it was. A bezoar. Why in Merlin's name would Sirius have kept a bezoar in his bedroom? They weren't all that common, outside of a professional or educational environment, and to the best of her knowledge Sirius hadn't worked much, if at all, with poisons after leaving Hogwarts. Why would he have need of a cure? Surely even he didn't expect that his wretched mother might taint his evening meal in revenge for her son being a rebellious Gryffindor? She tapped her foot in irritation.

Thinking of the last time she'd heard about bezoars, she remembered Ron's poisoning in Professor Slughorn's rooms last year. Harry had luckily found one to save his friend's life just in time. Even luckier, he'd been reminded of the stones himself thanks to the Half-Blood Prince's annotations: _'Just shove a bezoar down their throats.' _The Prince. Professor Snape. He'd talked about bezoars in their first ever Potions class too, when he had bombarded Harry with questions that the eleven year old surely couldn't have known the answers to. The whole room had been ransacked - how had this tiny stone not been swept to the floor with the rest of the bits and pieces that littered the floor. Unless it had been placed there afterwards? Was it some sort of message? Was it Snape? Had he been here, looking for something? If he had, he'd obviously gotten through Moody's protective jinxes alright. Had he known they'd come here?

Surely, if he was truly on the Death Eaters' side, now he was a Secret Keeper to the house and could tell others about it, he would have lingered to catch them. Maybe cast some protective enchantments of his own, or stationed a couple of Death Eater flunkies to watch the place to capture them or report back if Harry arrived? Something about the whole situation still just didn't sit right with her - Dumbledore had clearly put very extensive and detailed plans into place, and she found it hard to imagine it had all been put asunder in an instant because the renowned wizard had made a bad judgement call about a man he had known for twenty-five years. Tentatively, she picked up the bezoar, and pocketed it.

While she'd been searching Sirius's room, Harry had come upstairs to tell her the toast was ready, and they'd spotted the sign on Regulus's bedroom door. With the identity of R.A.B. now revealed, she felt a little surge of hope that their quest was making some progress. Of course, Regulus was dead and they still had no idea where the real Horcrux was or if he'd managed to destroy it, but it seemed unlikely, unless there was a secret stash of Basilisk fangs lying around Grimmauld Place somewhere. Even if there had been, then probably Molly Weasley would have thrown the filthy things away anyway during their clean-up of the house that summer, in-between evicting Doxys from the drawing room curtains and... The clean-up! Hadn't they seen a strange locket in the house back then? They'd been unable to open it, and it'd been thrown away with a load of other useless trinkets and bits of tat. Her heart sank. Harry said he'd go have a word with Kreacher, and see if he knew what had happened to it. Hermione remembered the letter and photograph that she'd put in her pocket, and Harry wandered off clutching them, padding slowly back down the stairs as he read his mother's words.

Making her way down after him, Hermione sat and ate her toast in the kitchen with Ron. Harry had come bursting back in shortly after to tell them that Kreacher had saved the locket, only for it to be taken by Mundungus Fletcher! Soon after that, the house-elf had reappeared with Dung in tow, and the portly wizard didn't seem very happy about it, cursing and jostling around in a show of bluster.

Hermione's heart sank again when Mundungus revealed that Dolores Umbridge had taken the Horcrux. As they assumed that their hiding place was, for the moment, secure, the trio had camped out there planning on how best to get into the Ministry. After several weeks, Hermione had finished brewing the Polyjuice Potion they would be using and was grilling the boys on a daily basis on the plan of action, to make sure it was etched into their brains.

* * *

On the second of September, dressed as Mafalda Hopkirk, she tottered down the street and flushed herself down the ladies' toilet into a fireplace in the Atrium. They were prematurely split up in the lifts: Ron/Reginald Cattermole diverted on an errand threateningly by Yaxley, whom Hermione had the horrible feeling she'd seen at Hogwarts that night Dumbledore had died. Even worse, they hadn't had to go very far to find Umbridge, as she'd appeared at the lift doors and dismissed Harry/Runcorn, getting in with Hermione, who tried not to flinch.

As she and the toad-like witch made their way down to the courtrooms, a tall, dark, and all-too-familiar figure rounded the corner in front of them and Hermione struggled to suppress a gasp. Professor Snape. _Headmaster_ Snape, now. He looked exactly the same as usual, although perhaps a little more weary. The pressures of running a school like Hogwarts she supposed, when the rest of the faculty loathed you, and most of the students too.

Another tall, but considerably more well-built wizard in burnt orange robes called out to Snape as he strode towards them, and the figure in black drew sharply to a halt and glared at him.

"Snape! What brings you to the Ministry? Where are you headed?"

"Department of Magical Games and Sports. I need to have a word with someone at the Official Gobstones Club." The words dripped off his tongue, smooth and silky as ever.

"Alright, no need to be sarcastic! If you don't want to tell me, you could just say. Hogwarts business I take it? No, never mind, don't bother telling me. I probably don't want to know anyway!"

The wizard in orange drew back his shoulder, puffed up his chest and strode off away from them and around the corner from where Snape had just appeared. The Headmaster started towards Hermione and Umbridge again. Dolores offered him a sickly sweet smile that didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Severus."

"_Dolores_." He couldn't have sounded less interested in her if he'd tried. Clearly he no longer felt the need to feign any sort of amity with her outside of the school environment, inclining his head towards her pseudo-deferentially and returning her insincere smile with a sneering one of his own; the corner of his mouth twitched minutely. Hermione wanted to high-five him, right there in the corridor. Snape continued his sweeping path towards them, and he passed by so close that Hermione could have stuck her hand out and touched the sleeve of his robes but resisted the temptation to do so, biting her lip out of nervousness.

* * *

Snape passed by the odious Dolores Umbridge and her companion (Mafalda-something, he thought?), and swept into the lift, jabbing at the button for level seven in irritation. As if he didn't have enough on his plate without having to make a trip to the Ministry so soon after the start of term. He'd been indecently busy of late, but had still managed to make a trip to the deserted number twelve, Grimmauld Place, where he'd found an old letter of Lily's. The photo he'd taken was safely stashed away in the top drawer of his desk back at Hogwarts. He talked to her picture every evening, telling her all about the plans they had made to take down the Dark Lord, although he couldn't bring himself to mention Harry. Any measures to protect the boy would likely be futile in the end, knowing what Albus had divulged to him not so long ago when Snape had become frustrated with the old man for keeping his star player, him, in the dark. He couldn't tell her - even a picture of her - that her son would have to die. He almost couldn't think about it himself.

He knew that the boy and his friends had gone to Grimmauld Place too. While Phineas Nigellus had a somewhat limited view of their movements, he heard and saw the occasional glimpse of their plans and dutifully passed any information along to Snape. He wondered if Granger had found the bezoar he had left in Black's room. Hopefully she had been the one to find it - Potter and Weasley would likely not even recognise it for what it was, much less realise who might have left it!

He didn't know why he had felt compelled to leave something in the house. He had fished around in his robes as he had been about to leave, and the stone had been wedged down into the corner of an inside pocket. Plenty more where that came from in his line of work, he mused. Not that he'd had time for much potion-brewing lately. Another unfortunate side-effect of his promotion!

On the conclusion of his business there, he vaguely noticed some sort of commotion by the fireplaces in the Atrium. Another Ministry cock-up, he presumed. Served them right for persecuting Muggle-borns so viciously! Although Phineas had told him not long ago that he had heard Granger and Potter talking about the Ministry, but hadn't managed to glean any more details of context. Snape had presumed they were discussing something to do with their fugitive status and the fact that it was now fairly obvious that the Dark Lord had consolidated his power by making his way into an overt position of authority at last. As he glanced over at the tail-end of the disturbance up ahead, he had a horrible thought. Trouble seemed to follow Potter and his friends wherever they went. What if... He quickened his pace. He heard people talking in low murmurs.

"... Yaxley..."

"... Disapparated..."

"... Harry Potter...!"

Trying not to roll his eyes, he gazed more urgently around the fireplaces. If they had been here, it didn't seem as if they had been apprehended. Yet... Luckily for them, as surely Umbridge would have had more in store for them than just writing lines with her Black Quill. Surely even Potter couldn't have been stupid enough to waltz into the heart of enemy territory without some sort of disguise though? For all the boy's hot-headedness, he had Miss Granger with him who would no doubt be the brains of any operation.

Thinking of Hermione Granger, and back to Umbridge, he frowned to himself as he recalled bumping into the Senior Under-Secretary to the Minister earlier, and the witch that had been with her. Mafalda-something had been biting her lip nervously - Snape presumed that being in the presence of Umbridge had been enough of a reason, but what if...? That expression had seemed so familiar. And he knew full-well that Granger was a dab-hand with a cauldron of Polyjuice. Increasing his pace, he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from the receptacle beside the grate and stepped into the flames, calling "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!" as he did so.

* * *

After Hermione had calmed down following their narrow escape from Yaxley, and Ron's subsequent Splinching, they had put up the tent and settled down to take stock of the situation. They had one more Horcrux. They'd slipped through the grasp of the Ministry, although their hideout in London had now _definitely_ been compromised. Ron didn't look too pleased with the idea of camping in the woods for who knows how long, but Harry seemed to think it was quite exciting. He'd never really had a holiday while living with the Dursleys, and had therefore not experienced anything close to wild camping before. Hermione wasn't too thrilled herself, but as long as Harry was happy, she could put on a brave face. Memories of being here for the Quidditch World Cup cheered her up a little, thinking about how things had used to be: before Horcruxes, before Voldemort.

* * *

Back at the school, Snape was mildly surprised to find that a group of students had dared to attempt to steal the sword of Gryffindor from his office one night. He was _not_ surprised however, to find that it had been Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, and Longbottom. He was astonished that they knew it was of any significance to Potter's quest, assuming that that was what they had wanted it for.

Just to keep up appearances with his new Death Eater colleagues, he had assigned them a vast number of detentions, albeit with Hagrid, who he knew was fond of them, and they him, and would therefore treat them well. He also made a big show of sending the fake sword off for 'safekeeping' at Gringotts. That had made Dumbledore's portrait chuckle when he had been doing paperwork in his office the following evening.

"Nice of you to send the three of them to the Forbidden Forest, my boy. I expect they're probably quite at home there now, the scallywags! Rubeus will be pleased of their company, I'm sure." His bright blue eyes seemed to twinkle irritatingly, just as they had in life.

"Yes, well," he'd replied stiffly, busy filling out forms for some ridiculous bureaucratic thing or other, "I have an evil reputation to keep up, you know(!)"

"Oh, you always _did_ have a flair for the dramatic, Severus." Dumbledore said evenly, "You're no more evil than I am, my boy."

Upon seeing Snape's withering glare in response, and realising that his words had _perhaps_ not had quite the desired comforting effect on his former-employee that he had intended, the old headmaster sighed.

"An unwise choice -or two- in life, does not a bad wizard make. Over time, I'm sure you will learn to forgive yourself, as so many others would undoubtedly forgive you, were they to learn the truth."

Snape raised an eyebrow sceptically at this, but decided it was no use arguing with the man. Returning his attention to the pile of parchment on his desk, he hunched over the forms once more, grabbed a quill and dipped it in the ink pot and started to scratch away, his nose so close to the paper it was almost touching.


	18. The Fear of Being Found

**A/N: Well, you've all been super-patient with the last few chapters which have admittedly been a bit filler-ish - I know you all know the story so wanted to gloss over some of the minutiae while still setting the scene. Your perseverence is rewarded with fluff: enjoy! :)  
**

**Chapter Eighteen: The Fear of Being Found**

Overhearing the motley assortment of wizards and goblins in the woods one evening mention that Snape had a fake copy of Gryffindor's sword, Harry, Ron and Hermione finally decided to quiz Phineas Nigellus and see what he knew about it. The former headmaster had been surly, especially being interrogated by a Muggle-born, but he had eventually given them some very exciting information. It had served to confuse Hermione even more though.

If Professor Snape's sword was fake, where was the real one? And _why_ was it a fake? Presumably Dumbledore had left it for him, and she was _convinced_ he was still on their side. Was the real sword still in the castle somewhere, hidden away safely? Or had it been moved somewhere else? There was nowhere safer than Hogwarts, although Gringotts bank would probably come a close second. But the fake one had just been moved there - surely the goblins would notice, and say something, if they had two copies of the same heirloom in their vaults?

Her confusion had only served to make her more irritable, and when Ron had kicked off, moaning about their lack of food, lack of progress and lack of plans for the future, she had told him to bugger off. And he had. Leaving her and Harry in the woods, Hermione felt a small pang of regret. He had been wearing the Horcrux-locket, which had surely contributed to his foul mood. '_Sod him_,' she thought. She and Harry would just crack on and see what happened. What more could they do? Silently wishing she had a portrait of Professor Dumbledore in her bag, instead of the crotchety Headmaster Black, she plodded wearily to one of the bunks and sat down on the edge, swinging her legs onto the bed and laying down. She stared at the ceiling, imagining for a second the night sky outside, and feeling horribly homesick for Hogwarts. Everything had always made sense there, in the end. She didn't feel like she could do this, with no-one to guide her.

She and Harry felt even more miserable than ever, having to now split shifts of wearing the locket just between the two of them, which didn't give them much time to recover from their previous wearing before having to put it back on again. Still, Harry had tried to cheer her up one night by dancing with her to a song on the radio. It was better than another report from the Wizarding Wireless Network, she supposed, keeping their ears tuned in for announcements that any of their friends and family might have been captured or killed. She smiled at him, as they held each other close and swayed around the living area of the tent. She didn't know how Harry could do it, with his miserable childhood, and now this. He deserved something so much better - an easy, safe life. Not this. She shed a small tear and he wiped it from her cheek with a thumb.

"It's okay, Hermione. We can do this. We just have to keep going a little longer."

Thinking that it should have been _her_ reassuring _him_, she stamped down the growing impulse to cry, and broke away from him, going to the kitchen to boil the kettle. Her mum always said everything looked better after a cup of tea...

* * *

Snape was just wondering how he could get Gryffindor's sword to Potter when he didn't even know where the boy was, when Phineas Nigellus raced into his portrait on the wall.

**"Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood-"**

** "Do not use that word!" **He rounded on the painting, his features harsh and voice filled with venom. To use the same word about _her_, that he had once called Lily... Nigellus continued, unfazed.

"**The Granger girl, then, mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!"**

Sighing, Snape stood and wrapped his robes around him more tightly. After a brief discussion with Dumbledore, (why did the old man _still_ insist on treating Severus like a simpleton, even as he entrusted him with his most important duties?) he had left the school with the sword in his possession. The Forest of Dean. At least the weather would be a little more temperate than at Hogwarts. Even after all these years, Severus had still not acclimated to the biting Scottish winters there.

Picking his way through the trees, there were a lot of them, he noted ruefully - it was all well and good Phineas telling him they were in a forest, but it wasn't exactly narrowing it down very much. Casting a quick _Homenum Revelio_ to try and find signs of life, he made his way onward. Coming to the edge of the lake, he thought that it would be the perfect place for Gryffindor's sword.

'..._Must be taken under conditions of need and valour_,' Albus had said of the weapon. He couldn't think that Potter would ever have more need of something than to be able to escape from a frozen pond in January(!) With something approaching sadness, he realised that today was his birthday. Even he had forgotten, so he could hardly complain that everyone else had too. Even Minerva, although she'd barely been able to look him in the eyes since last May anyway. Hiding in the treeline, just in case someone was watching, he muttered "Diffindo."

A crack appeared in the ice, and he then Levitated the sword out across the water, barely inches from the surface, then lowered it through the hole he had created, and watched the unmoving surface until he was sure it was safely at the bottom. Slinking back into the woods, he raised his wand again. "Expecto Patronum," he whispered.

A burst of silver light came from the end, and the doe looked at him in a way he might have interpreted as mournful, had he not known that Patronuses weren't sentient beings in their own right. The doe turned and trotted off lightly between the trees until he couldn't see her any more. He cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself, suppressing a slight shudder at the sensation of cold trickling over him, and made his own retreat, in a slightly different direction. He should probably remain close until he was sure Potter had taken the bait. They must have some sort of encampment nearby.

After a short while, he ducked under a low-hanging branch and found himself in a small clearing. There didn't appear to be anything there, however he surmised that it might be the ideal spot for a couple of fugitives to hide out in. Stalking across the snowy leaves, alert to the slightest noise, he scouted around the area. Just as he was about to admit defeat, that maybe they weren't there after all, he caught the scent of something. A woman's perfume. It made him think instantly of Horace Slughorn's Christmas party the previous year, and he knew beyond a doubt that it wasn't just any woman's perfume. It belonged to Hermione Granger.

* * *

Hermione was sat in the tent, unable to sleep. She knew she should take advantage of Harry being on watch, but she just couldn't relax. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she realised she'd heard something outside. A muffled 'crack' of a tree branch; a crunch of snow and leaves. Someone approaching? Harry? Or just the creaks and groans of an empty forest, combined with sleep deprivation and a racing mind?

Quietly creeping to the tent flap, picking up a frying pan from the kitchen on the way as Harry had taken her wand, she carefully lifted one side of the canvas and peeked out as covertly as possible. She was confident in the protective charms they'd cast around their campsite, but you never knew...

For a moment, the clearing was empty, and she chastised herself for having an overactive imagination. Then, she saw a shimmer of air as a Disillusionment Charm was lowered, and there in front of her, not ten feet away, stood Professor Snape. He was alone. Without even realising what she was doing, Hermione called out in surprise. "Sir!"

In an instant, she realised her mistake. She had bet an awful lot on the fact that he was still loyal to Dumbledore; to the cause. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she let the tent flap drop closed again and held her breath. But it was too late. His head whipped up, the effect of the spells broken. He made no move towards her however. Instead, he spoke.

"Miss Granger? Are you there? I... I've brought the sword."

She didn't need to ask which sword he was talking about. Ripping the tent door open again, keeping the hand holding the frying pan concealed behind her, she stared out at him, incredulously.

"You- you brought the sword of Gryffindor for us? How- Why- How did you-?" She trailed off.

Snape made a very deliberate show of putting his wand away beneath his robes, and took a single step forward, palms spread out in front of him so she could see he was unarmed.

"It doesn't matter how, Miss Granger," Even slumming it in a tent for six months or more, she still looked rather radiant. Granted, she clearly hadn't managed to find a supply of Sleekeazy during her time on the run, but he could hardly criticise someone's haircare regime he told himself. Besides, it only added to her charm. She had most definitely blossomed into an amazing woman, he didn't know why it had taken him so long to notice. Starved of anything approaching friendliness since he had taken up tenure as headmaster, it was nice to have someone who didn't look like they wanted to spit on him. "You found my bezoar?" He cocked his head at her slightly.

A brief frown of puzzlement crossed her features before she replied.

"Your-? Oh, your bezoar! Yes, I thought that must be you! The boys didn't think you'd been able to get past Mad-Eye Moody's enchantments, but I didn't see who else it could be. What were you doing at Grimmauld Place, sir?" He didn't answer her question.

"Good. Miss Granger, I- There's a great deal more going on than you and Potter are aware of. I can't divulge the details at the moment, but safe to say things are proceeding as planned. More or less. Have you found any more Horcruxes?"

"Any-?!" Hermione's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. He _knew_! "Did Dumbledore-?" she asked, slightly breathlessly.

"He did. _And_-?" A single eyebrow raised, prompting her to answer him.

"Oh, yes. We've found the locket. The _real_ locket this time. We just haven't had anything to destroy it with though. Not until- Have you _really_ got it?"

He chuckled slightly, a deep, unfamiliar sound.

"Yes, Miss Granger. At least, I have arranged for Potter to obtain it."

"Oh sir, I can't tell you how much it means to have someone helping us finally! I just- It's been so hard! I knew you were still on our side, even after..." she trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of Severus's status as a murderer. Concealed from him behind the tent wall, the frying pan fell from her slack grip to the ground beside her. If Snape heard the thud, he didn't show it.

"Can I-?" she stuttered, "Can I just ask-? Did he- Did Professor Dumbledore-?" Seeing her struggle, he helped her out.

"The Headmaster was dying," he stated, flatly. "The ring's curse. I was unable to do any more for him. It was Dumbledore's way of sparing Draco the psychological damage, and of cementing my own reputation within the Dark Lord's circle. I-" Now it was his turn for his voice to break, "I promised him..."

Hermione had taken a couple of steps out of the tent while he had been speaking. She was within arm's reach of him now, and seeing him so dejected, her heart broke and she flung herself across the gap between them, wrapping her arms around him - partly to comfort him, and partly for her own reassurance. He was a steadfast figure in a changing world, and perhaps if she could just hold onto him for a second, the world would stop spinning under her feet and things might stabilise once more.

* * *

Taking a second to think of the night he and Dumbledore had both made enormous sacrifices, Severus suddenly felt Granger's arms around him. It was such an unexpected reaction, despite her clearly non-hostile attitude towards him, that he initially froze. He felt he'd probably react better having the Dark Lord set a snake on him, in truth. Conflict and battle he could deal with in his sleep; compassion and companionship were utterly alien to him. Inhaling deeply for a second to compose his thoughts, he caught the heady scent of her perfume again, and smelled her hair beneath his nose, and he forgot all about pushing her away.

His arms finally moved from their place at his side, and one came up behind her to cradle the back of her head in his hand. If she was surprised by this, she didn't show it. Instead, Granger leaned even closer to him, pressing her body up against his in a way that made him want to sigh out loud. They held each other there for a few seconds, neither one moving or talking. He hoped she wasn't crying into his robes. Finally after what seemed like an age, he felt her shift. Looking down, he was pleased to see that she _wasn't_ crying.

"Come in?" She stared up at him, imploringly, brown eyes wide.

"I- What?" He frowned at her.

"It's freezing out here. Come on in the tent. Harry- Harry won't be back for a while - we're taking shifts to be on watch. I'm supposed to be sleeping."

"I see... I-" he frowned down at her again, "I should be getting back. To Hogwarts," he added, unnecessarily. _Merlin's pants. _He'd been with her for a few minutes at most, and his brain had dissolved into mush.

"Please?"

Well bugger, how could he say no? With a deep sigh, he straightened up as she released her hold on him, and as she turned towards the tent, he followed behind.

With a piping hot cup of tea in hand, they sat across from each other at the table in the main living area in silence. Now their slightly tender moment outside had passed, the mood seemed to have broken. She was probably realising what a mistake it was to appear to show any affection towards him, he mused darkly. Any minute now she'd throw a hex at him and tell him to get out; that he was a worthless, evil-

"What's it like? Hogwarts?" She broke the silence. He sipped from his mug, trying not to wince as the boiling liquid scalded his freezing, pale lips.

"Dire. I have to play my part, of course. But the Carrows-" He stopped and looked at her questioningly, she nodded at him to show she knew of them, "the Carrows... are _not _playing at Death Eater," he muttered darkly. "I promised the Headmaster that I'd protect the students once he was gone..." Hermione didn't dare interrupt him to tell him that _he_ was now headmaster. Something in his voice told her that he felt very far from worthy of the position. "And I'm failing miserably." He finished. He glared at the drink in front of him and took his wand out, prodding at the mug, and she could see the columns of steam from the rim fade away at his Cooling Charm. She'd already drained her own mug. Spending so long on the run in the great outdoors had taught her to take refreshments whenever there was an opportunity, and she was constantly chilled to the bone anyway, so didn't much care if she burned - in fact it made quite a refreshing alternative. Standing up, she fetched a small glass jar from the kitchen counter.

"Would you mind, sir?" She nodded at his wand hand. "Bluebell flames?"

He stood to join her, folded his arms across his chest languidly and tried not to smirk.

"I thought they were _your_ speciality, Miss Granger?"

"Um, yes, I suppose. But Harry's got my wand you see. His got... broken."

The thought of telling him '_We blew it up escaping from Voldemort's massive snake that was squashed into an old woman's skin_' didn't exactly fill her with joy. Best to leave some details untold.

Unfortunately when she asked him the question, she had looked him straight in the eye out of habit. As his mouth dropped open slightly, she realised that she had no need to tell him - he knew.

"Nagini," he murmured, "A shame you didn't manage to kill her..."

He had no love for the Dark Lord's sinister familiar, even before he'd learned that she was a repository for a part of her master's twisted soul. Nevertheless, he stood and extended his wand towards the jar, producing a thin stream of blue flame from it, which condensed into a cheery flickering blob at the bottom.

"Engorgio," he added, and the ball of fire trebled in size to fill the container. She smiled at him gratefully, and he twisted one corner of his mouth up at her in return, in a gesture that he hoped conveyed reciprocity. Hermione started to warm her hands up against the sides of the jar.

"How did you find us?"

"Phineas Nigellus."

"Ah! _Slytherins_..." She laughed lightly.

"My Patronus should be leading Potter to the location where I left the sword for him. I used her trajectory to guess your approximate location within the forest."

"Is the sword safe?" Sudden concern marred her features.

"Oh yes." He tried not to smirk again. "_Quite_ safe. No-one will stumble across it accidentally, let's put it that way."

"What do we do next?" The look she gave him was so heart-breakingly innocent, so beseeching. He felt almost bereft that he had no real, satisfactory answer for her.

"You keep looking."

"But sir, didn't Dumbledore- Didn't he give you some idea...?

"I know barely more than you, I should imagine," He wouldn't _ever_ tell her that he knew Potter would have to die. Sometimes it was better to leave some details untold. He saw that her lip was trembling. She was struggling to repress the urge to break down. Moving closer to her, he reached up to her face, and wiped away the lone tear that escaped with a calloused thumb.

"Miss Granger-" How could he console her? He wasn't even sure he'd make it out the other side of this fight - in fact, he was almost certain he wouldn't. Thinking about his own impending mortality, he was overcome with the desire to throw caution to the wind. "Hermione-"

Her soft, brown eyes darted up to meet his again, no longer afraid to maintain her gaze. He had never called her by her first name before, not even when speaking of her to colleagues. Rarely even in his own head.

"Herm-" Whatever he was thinking of saying, she didn't give him the chance. Throwing her arms around him once more, she grabbed the back of his cloak in both fists and pulled herself up towards him. Her lips met his with a jolt, and he felt something that might have been similar to Muggle electricity flowing through his entire body. All the stresses and dark thoughts he had contained within him melted away, and for a moment he was just Severus, and she was just Hermione.


	19. Revolution Radio

**Chapter Nineteen: Revolution Radio**

She'd caught him mid-word, with his mouth open, and Hermione could taste him on her tongue as she pressed her mouth to his. All the past months of fear, of planning, of hiding, all disappeared, and she could only think of kissing him. She'd realised he was tall, but just _how_ tall hadn't been so apparent until she'd been pressed up against him, straining to reach his mouth with hers. Almost immediately, he'd dropped his face to hers though, and made it slightly easier. Then he'd brought both of his hands up to cup her face and deepened the kiss, leaning forward into her and letting his tongue brush over her lips tentatively. She'd acquiesced straight away, opening her mouth slightly to allow him access and their tongues met in a frantic clash, each striving to connect with the other even more deeply as the seconds passed.

Just aware enough to feel like she should be doing something_ more_, Hermione released her hold on Snape's cloak, and started to run her hands up and down across his back. He let out a low moan into her mouth, and she caressed him harder, encouraged. His own hands hadn't moved from her face. Ever the gentleman, she thought. Not only did he _dress_ like a Victorian aristocrat, he had the morals of one too - typical!

Bringing her hands around to grasp his arms, she gently-but-firmly guided him down to rest his hands against her waist. He froze, opening one black eye quizzically while still locked in their passionate embrace, and fixed her with a penetrating stare.

She flushed slightly under his critical gaze, hoping that he didn't have a good enough vantage point from so close up to notice, and let his arms go. He kept his hands where they were which was promising, she thought. Bringing her own hands up between the two of them, she started to run them across his chest now, tracing her fingers around his coat buttons as she moved. She felt him place his hands to grasp her waist properly, and her heart fluttered crazily in her throat as he then pulled her closer towards him and bent his head to kiss her neck, nosing his way down past the collar of her turtle-neck jumper and making her skin tingle with excitement as he pressed his lips to her over and over.

"Mmm," he couldn't even find the words to express himself at that moment - didn't want to, lest it break the spell that had come over them. He had wondered if the girl might perhaps have felt _something_ for him as their relationship had developed over the past few years, but had never imagined she might be _this_ keen on him.

Under his firm grasp and enthusiastic embrace, Hermione had been steadily pushed backwards across the floor, as they'd shuffled passionately together, not wanting to break the connection. Suddenly her back bumped against the large table they'd been sat at moments earlier, enjoying a civilised cup of tea together. Jolting back to reality with a start, she panicked all of a sudden that Harry could be on his way back to the tent, and might stumble across the pair of them in flagrante. He had her wand with him, and she was certain that even if Harry didn't see him with his tongue down his best friend's throat, Severus Snape was the very last person Harry would be pleased to find in their camp.

Drawing back slightly away from his embrace, Hermione pressed a couple of kisses to Snape's face, to indicate that she wasn't stopping because she'd changed her mind about him.

"Harry..."

Snape looked up from her neck instantly, as the mention of Potter killed the mood somewhat. Looking apologetically at him, Hermione touched his face tenderly, running her fingers across his cheeks, down his jaw and over his thin, suddenly pursed lips. She was amused to see they had slightly more colour to them than usual, thanks to their enthusiastic clinch moments ago.

"Sorry. Harry's going to be back soon though I should think. Depending on how hard you made it for him to get the sword?"

"Ugh." He sighed in defeat, dropped his head, and pressed a kiss to the top of hers, through the frizz of curls that she belatedly realised probably needed a good wash. "Yes, I should imagine he will be. I cannot stay any longer anyway, lest somebody at the castle notices my absence. Remember, if you need anything, use Nigellus to send me a message. He knows to keep everything covert, so no need to worry about anybody else overhearing him conveying a message to me."

She beamed up at him in a way that made him want to grab hold of her again and kiss her until he dropped dead from lack of oxygen. It had been so very long - never, in fact - since someone had looked at him like that.

Taking her hand and planting a chaste kiss on her silky smooth knuckles, he straightened his robes and backed away from her, towards the door.

"I'm not sure if -when- I'll be able to see you again. Or at all. At least until things are... sorted." Quite the euphemism, he thought to himself, for finding and destroying three more magical vessels for the Dark Lord's soul, defeating the army of Death Eaters and their assorted beastly allies, and protecting the school. He was beginning to sound like Dumbledore with his casual understatement. "But we'll do it - we'll win. We have to."

She skipped lightly over towards him again and leaned up on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on the end of his nose. He tried not to flinch - he disliked anything that drew attention to his nose, as he was well-aware it was far from his best feature. Yet another thing to hate his rotten father for, he rued.

"I'll see you later then, Professor... Severus," she added, apparently feeling that titles were unnecessary with him now that she had had his tongue in her mouth. She was probably right, he thought. She _was_ the smartest witch of her age.

"Indeed." And with that he was gone; the swish of his cloak and the tent flaps closing behind him, his final goodbye.

* * *

Not more than five minutes later, Hermione heard a rustling noise outside again. Harry, soaking wet and wearing only underpants and a sweater, flopped through the tent door, followed closely by...

"Ron!" She dashed forward and gave her friend a bear hug, so discombobulated by the recent goings on and his sudden reappearance that she forgot she was supposed to be mad at him for leaving them, "What are you doing here?"

Once the boys had regaled her with the story of the Deluminator, the silver doe, and the sword of Gryffindor - which she pretended to be surprised to see clutched in Harry's hand - she demanded her wand back and set about drying him off with a Hot-Air Charm.

"Honestly, you're frozen! Wasn't there an easier way to get it?" She knew there wasn't.

In the middle of warming his blue fingers up on the jar of similar-coloured flames, Harry frowned at them suddenly.

"How did you make those? I had your wand."

"Oh- I already had them. In my bag." She lied, hoping it was convincing. It must have been, because Ron and Harry then turned their attention to the kitchen, and set about scrounging things for an impromptu celebratory meal. With half a sandwich in his mouth, and testing out the new wand Ron had brought with him, Harry pointed it at the bluebell flame jar.

"Engorgio!" The fire exploded violently into a raging jet nearly two feet high. Just about jerking his head away in time to avoid losing his eyebrows, Harry jabbed the wand at it again frantically. "REDUCIO!"

He looked sheepishly over at Hermione who was giving him a mildly disapproving stare, as she thought not only of her friend's sloppy wand-work, but also of the man who had performed it so much better not so long ago...

"I saw something move behind the trees, you know," piped up Ron, probably in an effort to distract her from chastising Harry. "When I saw the doe." It worked. Hermione abruptly changed the conversation to the search for the next Horcrux, now that they had something with which to destroy them.

* * *

Back in the Forest of Dean after their numerous excursions searching for the remaining Horcruxes, and listening intently one day to a Potterwatch broadcast on the radio, they had all gathered round to hear what was going on in the outside world.

**"-the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so-"** Hermione scowled slightly at Fred's words, unseen by the others. She'd be having words with him when she saw him next. Mere seconds later, Harry had mentioned Voldemort's name, and the Taboo brought the Death Eaters right to them. Running pell-mell through the trees, Hermione had enough presence of mind to shoot Harry with a Stinging Jinx to disguise him before they were caught.

**"Hello, beautiful!"** leered a Snatcher who looked like he needed to brush his teeth rather more often. Hermione recoiled from him as he leaned towards her, reaching out to touch her face with an equally disgusting hand. When he was less than an inch away, a jet of red light shot through the air and struck him, blasting him off his feet and into a large tree trunk.

"Oi!" Another Snatcher, who was presumably their leader, made his way over to her, and looked her up and down. She saw out of the corner of her eye, Harry, whose face had now swollen to almost-comical proportions, and Ron - both bound and being marched forward towards her by more Snatchers. She guessed one of them had decided to defend her, in a rather foolish moment of gallantry.

"Search the woods," barked the slightly less revolting wizard. "There's more of them out there."

Hermione nearly said '_No there isn't_!' before deciding that she'd let them waste time doing their fruitless search. Just after _that_, she realised that Harry and Ron had both probably been incapacitated already by the time her would-be-assailant had been cursed. There was only one other person on their side who might possibly be sneaking around these woods... She raised her eyes to the heavens; he was going to get himself killed - or worse! Wondering how he was _still_ tailing them after they'd done so much travelling around, and telling herself that Severus Snape was a perfectly capable wizard and could probably take on the entire bunch of Snatchers one-handed and holding the wrong end of his wand, she exhaled very slowly, and started trying to think of an appropriate false identity to give their captors that might extend their lifespans slightly.

* * *

Hidden in the trees, and seeing that Potter and Weasley would soon be overcome, Snape shot a glance over to where he'd last seen Granger. A flash of adrenaline leapt through him as he realised she had run into another couple of Snatchers in the distance. One of them was reaching towards her in a way that made him feel dirty just for watching it. Swinging his wand arm around and lining up his shot through the trees, he fired off a Stunner, and sneered in malicious satisfaction when he saw the red bolt of energy hit its mark and blast the wretch clean off his feet. Another movement at the corner of his eye drew his attention back and his lip curled as he made out the silhouette of Fenrir Greyback, stalking through the trees like the predator he was.

Snape wasn't arrogant enough to think he could successfully take on the werewolf plus all the Snatchers at once, and he also certainly wasn't about to reveal his presence to Greyback anyway, who enjoyed an unusually close position to the Dark Lord for a half-breed. Knowing that even the beast would obey his master's orders and not harm Potter if they identified him, Snape was ninety-nine percent sure that protection would extend to his companions, if only until they had been interrogated for any useful information. He might have to take a trip to Malfoy Manor in the very near future, and see if there was any way he could stealthily intervene in their detention there.

As it happened, he hadn't needed to think of an excuse. Bellatrix Lestrange had noticed the sword that the Snatchers had taken from their captives, and had summoned him there in a rage, for an explanation as to why it was not currently safe in her Gringotts vault where it was supposed to be.

"Bellatrix," he purred, "I can assure you, the sword was given to the goblins. I have no idea what became of it after then. I suggest you ask them?" He shrugged offhandedly, smiling nastily at Griphook, who he knew had already been involved in deceiving Lestrange about the one in her vault being genuine in the first place. If he told her the truth that _this_ one was in fact the original, then she'd probably kill him anyway for the initial lie. The goblin would keep his mouth shut about their little switch, tell her this one was the copy, and save his own skin.

When he'd arrived at the Manor, his heart had stopped for a beat as he came up the flight of stone stairs into the main hall and saw a Snatcher roughly dragging Hermione, who was bound and gagged, away through another door at the back of the room. Their eyes had met; he'd hurriedly tried to send her some comforting thoughts using Legilimency, and then she was gone. At least he knew she was safe, relatively speaking, for the moment. He thought he'd glimpsed a patch of blood on one of her sleeves, but she'd been conscious and walking, so that was something.

He quickly sent a Patronus to Aberforth Dumbledore, asking him to help - the only person he could think of in the vicinity of the castle who might be willing and able to assist. Their only meeting had been brief and long ago, so Albus's brother shouldn't be able to identify the Patronus as belonging to the hated Headmaster and his brother's killer - also Snape knew Aberforth had been a member of the original Order and therefore an ally, however jaded he might have become in later years.

"Send Dobby. Malfoy Manor. Potter."

The silver doe galloped away and through the wall of the house. He was frustrated at being unable to do anything more overt, but his hands were tied for the moment and after his brief meeting with Bellatrix he left the Manor and Disapparated back to the school gates. Phineas Nigellus had later managed to inform him that everybody had managed to escape safely from their imprisonment in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, and they were all recuperating from their ordeal at a cottage in Cornwall belonging to Bill Weasley. He mused that he wouldn't mind retiring to a nice little place on the beach somewhere himself, should the opportunity ever arise at some point. He was bored of the bleak Highlands and grimy industrial towns after all these years.

His spirits buoyed by the good news about his fellow combatants, Severus forgot himself for a moment while walking through the castle corridors and accidentally awarded a Hufflepuff third-year boy five points for helping a friend pick up a stack of books that had been knocked to the floor by another student brushing past clumsily. Minerva had given him a strange look in the staffroom later, but he had snapped something sarcastic at her and swept away, cloak billowing behind him huffily.

When he'd heard further news that evening that Wormtail was dead - at his own hand, no less - Snape had treated himself to a large Firewhisky in his private quarters. He had long yearned for revenge on that traitorous little vermin. He'd never really gotten much satisfaction from Sirius Black's demise, even after having believed for all those years that he had been the one who had betrayed Lily to the Dark Lord, and the fact that Black was a nasty piece of work anyway. Having Pettigrew to eye up as a new target had spurred him on in his quest for justice.

"For you, Lily." He raised his glass to the empty room, then took a long sip. The Dark Lord still had to be defeated, of course, but that would come in time, or he would die trying. At least this gave him a little more closure on his unhappy schooldays. These days, even if he hadn't promised to Lily and Albus that he would dedicate himself to the cause, he fancied that he was mature enough that he would have made the right choice on his own now, were he to be given the option again. The desperate, needy child was gone, and in his place stood a man who sought nobody's approval.

* * *

Somebody else's mood was also much improved, unfortunately. Severus had been called to the gates of Hogwarts in the small hours of the morning by a sudden burning sensation on his inner left forearm. Wrapping himself tightly in his cloak, he made his way swiftly down the path by wandlight to meet the Dark Lord, and undid the protective enchantments that sealed the entrance to intruders, suppressing a shudder as he allowed the serpentine wizard to cross the threshold into the one place that had long been a bastion standing against him. Following his false master across the grounds until he was dismissed, he bowed and turned away, returning to the sanctuary of the castle. Whatever had filled Voldemort with such elation, he was rather reluctant to find out.

Overheard chatter later that day had revealed that it had been something to do with Dumbledore. The Dark Wizard had desecrated his tomb and stolen the Headmaster's wand from where had been interred with him. Snape was well-aware of the troubles the Dark Lord had been having with using a wand against Potter; perhaps Voldemort was looking for something that might finally provide him an advantage against the boy? As his only real equal in terms of magical ability, maybe he had decided to try his luck with Albus's weapon, to see if it afforded him the same power for which the Headmaster had been legendary. A silent fury boiled within him at the indignity of Dumbledore's last resting place being disturbed, by his most fierce adversary no less. It made his skin crawl to think of it, so he tried not to.

He passed a long month, watching grimly over the school, and hoping that Potter was making progress with his quest. He had to admit, he was glad it was up to the boy - he would have had no idea where to start himself if Dumbledore had left him with the same information to go on.

News of a rather spectacular break-in at Gringotts had appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ one morning, while he had been trying to enjoy a plate of toast in peace and quiet. Naturally the students had erupted into a hubbub of chatter and excited discussion. He glared around the room at them all, and buried his nose further into his own copy of the paper. The thieves had escaped on a dragon. Had to be Potter. The boy did have an insatiable thirst for eye-catching displays of extravagance, after all. Snape was a little curious, however, as to _why_ they wanted to get into the vaults. They had to know that the copy of Gryffindor's sword they possessed was the original - surely the goblin wouldn't have concealed that fact from them, after having gone to the effort of keeping the truth from the Death Eaters for so long? The trio must have used it on the Horcrux that they had already found, prior to their run-in with the Snatchers, and known it to be genuine. So why go for the vault - presumably Lestrange's - in order to get to the fake one? There was more going on than Severus had time to think about at the present moment in time.


	20. Summon Monsters

**A/N: So, y'all may need a box of kleenex for this chapter - the Battle of Hogwarts is coming up! Hope I'm not going to cause you too much heartache...**

**FAO Zedoc - yes, he DEFINITELY lives, trust me ;)**

**Chapter Twenty: Summon Monsters**

Dropping off the back of the low-flying dragon into a very cold lake, Harry, Hermione and Ron made their way to shore and took stock of their situation. Hermione dried herself and the boys off with an efficient Hot-Air Charm while they chatted. Learning that Voldemort would eventually be heading to Hogwarts to check on his final Horcrux, they Disapparated to Hogsmeade, and were unceremoniously rescued from the patrolling Death Eaters by Aberforth Dumbledore, much to their surprise - and Harry's dismay - at realising the man in the mirror shard had not been his brother, Albus.

They made their way cautiously into the castle through Ariana Dumbledore's portrait tunnel, and met up with Neville and the others in the Room of Requirement. Gathering their forces and teaming up with the Order of the Phoenix members who had also arrived via Aberforth's pub, they made their way to the Great Hall, where the students had been summoned in the dead of night by the Headmaster, no doubt as a result of their setting off the Caterwauling Charms in the village upon their arrival. Stepping through the enormous doors, Hermione was struck by the feeling that she had come home, and yet it didn't feel quite the same as before. Maybe it never would.

* * *

In the middle of threatening the students to reveal the whereabouts of Harry Potter, Snape was stunned as the boy stepped out of the crowd and confronted him. He had mostly hoped that his menacing tone would have had the opposite effect and encouraged the frightened children to stay quiet, at least in front of the Carrows, so that it might give him more time to find Potter himself. His eyes had swept over the rows of huddled youngsters, but he had managed to glean nothing from their minds. Then the fool had revealed himself, and Snape's heart had sunk. He could hardly stand by and let him go, in front of two of the most sadistic, loyal Death Eaters, and yet he couldn't attack him either. Potter would be unlikely to be persuaded to meekly follow him up to his office for a chat over tea and biscuits, given their history as it stood.

Then the door to the Entrance Hall swung open, and at least a dozen members of the Order of the Phoenix stepped into the room. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Minerva gallantly, but foolishly, threw herself in between him and Potter to defend the boy from an attack the Headmaster hadn't launched. He deeply regretted the turn his relationship had taken with his fellow Head of House since Dumbledore's death, although he accepted it had been unavoidable. Another casualty of war... Minerva regarded him with a look of deepest loathing, and sent an unprovoked jet of flame straight at his face. He'd had just enough time to notice that Hermione Granger had been at the front of the Order group, standing next to Weasley, before bringing up a Shield Charm just in time and parrying McGonagall's curse. He tried desperately to catch another glimpse of the girl as he whirled and dodged his deputy head's assault on him, to no avail. Realising that he was fighting a losing battle, but refusing to cast anything offensive back in his opponent's direction, he skilfully deflected a couple of her blasts back towards Amycus and Alecto Carrow, and was pleased to discover, upon turning, that he had taken out the pair of them. It would be safe for him to retreat now: safe to leave the school in Minerva's capable hands for the moment, now that everyone in charge in the castle was on the same side.

He spun sharply, drawing his cloak around him in a swirl, and Disapparated through the large window at the rear of the Hall. As he went, he had just enough presence of mind to detect McGonagall's cry of 'COWARD!' which momentarily prickled at him, before he was out and away. He would go to the Dark Lord and try to glean more information from him, but then he would have to try and find a way to reach Potter again, in order to impart to him the secrets Dumbledore had confided to Snape the previous year, so that the boy might complete his task.

* * *

As Professor McGonagall had cast her first curse in Snape's direction, Hermione had almost thrown herself forwards to stop her. Catching herself in time, she let out a gasp as Severus skilfully deflected her attacks. She had spotted the two Death Eater siblings at the back of the Hall: the Carrows. It would not do to break Severus's cover in front of them, if he had more espionage work to do in their ranks before they were in a position to win the war. She hardly dared breathe as Snape dodged and blocked her own Head of House's vicious assault on him, and willed him on, hoping that he might somehow pick up on her thoughts despite his obvious distraction. Hermione saw that he had yet to cast a single spell back in McGonagall's direction, although he had been driven back several paces under the onslaught.

Suddenly, she saw the Carrows collapse behind him, and realised with a surge of pride and admiration that he'd managed to incapacitate the pair of them in a split second by expertly deflecting a couple of curses aimed at him. And then he was gone, and she felt more than a little bereft. She hoped that wherever he was going, whatever he was planning, that he would stay safe.

Not particularly enthused by the cheering that erupted in the aftermath of the Headmaster's rather undignified sacking, she stayed with Harry while he explained to McGonagall that Voldemort was on the way, and that they needed to find something important in the castle.

She had then gone with Ron to the Chamber of Secrets to get some of the Basilisk fangs in order to destroy the Horcrux should they find it. Hermione had to admit, she was rather impressed with his Parseltongue impression, and it had certainly done the job to admit them to the Chamber.

After successfully destroying Hufflepuff's Cup, Ron had turned to her and planted a big, wet kiss on her lips. She had politely embraced him in return, subtly reacting in a way that discouraged him from making it anything more passionate. She loved Ron - he was a lovely wizard, and a kind man, but she felt nothing for him romantically, although she had occasionally wondered over the years. It had turned out to be pure friendly affection on her behalf though, and she felt none of the spark when he kissed her as in the Forest of Dean when Severus had done the same.

She felt a little guilty about it, knowing that Ron probably felt something a little more than friendship for her, but she couldn't help how she felt, and wasn't obliged to give a chance to a dead-end relationship merely because the pair of them had been through several adventures together.

Perhaps the near-constant state of peril they had been living in lately had heightened his desire to find something meaningful? Knowing he wouldn't find it with her, and it would be kinder not to let him think so, she gave him an awkward smile, then bent to gather up an armful of filthy Basilisk fangs from the damp floor.

Returning to the upper levels of the castle, they met up with Harry again and showed him their venomous haul. In return, he told them that he now knew the location of the final Horcrux, thanks to a tempestuous chat with the Grey Lady.

Narrowly escaping the destruction in the Room of Hidden Things which followed, and with the Diadem destroyed, they made their way back through the castle, the battle raging all around them.

Following Harry's vision of Voldemort holed up in the Shrieking Shack, and more than a little scared to learn that he was demanding for Snape to join him, Hermione and the boys picked their way through the castle, avoiding monsters and Death Eaters and every other sort of horror. Crawling down the tunnel underneath the Whomping Willow, they came to the end, a crate blocking them from view by the room's occupants. Snape was mere inches away from them, his back to the hole in the wall. He was asking - no, begging - to go and find Harry for his master.

"**I have a problem, Severus,"** the soft, high voice said, almost conversationally, although there was an undercurrent of something else.

"**My Lord?" **Was that just a hint of fear in the Potions master's voice?

**"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"**

* * *

Summoned to Lord Voldemort's side, just as he needed to be free to find Potter, Snape hurried to the Shrieking Shack. Hopefully he could convince the Dark Lord to let him return to the battle, where he might continue looking for the boy, and tell him what he needed to know. Dumbledore had said he must wait until the last moment, and something was telling him that now was that time, that a very final moment was now rapidly approaching.

Despite his pleading, Voldemort refused to release him from his presence. Instead, he began talking about wands, and Snape didn't like at all, the way the conversation was going. Nagini was sat coiled tightly in the corner of the room, and the Potions master glanced back and forth between her and the Dark Lord, uncertain as to which one was the bigger threat. Dumbledore had told him that there was more to the enormous serpent than a mere familiar, and he had witnessed her extreme loyalty and obedience to her master first-hand on more than one occasion.

Then Voldemort had announced that he believed Snape to be the master of the Elder Wand, and he knew his number was up. Panic flooded him, as he realised he wouldn't be getting the chance to pass on his vital information to Potter, who was no doubt still somewhere up in the castle with the Order of the Phoenix, fighting the invading hordes. As Voldemort announced that Snape must die for him to truly master the wand, he barely had time to raise his own in defence before the Dark Lord had slashed viciously towards him with Dumbledore's stolen weapon, and he gasped in pain and shock as a sudden wetness spread across his throat, his own Sectumsempra spell turned against him.

Clutching at his haemorrhaging neck and making a gurgling sound that turned his own stomach, he sank to the floor in agony. But it was not to be so simple, no reprieve for Severus Snape - he would not be left in peace to bleed out and slip away. With a strangled hiss, his master set Nagini towards him and the snake lunged. Completely helpless, he was thrown against the wall like a ragdoll as the huge fangs sank into his neck, chest, and arm, again and again. When the serpent had apparently inflicted enough damage on him, she withdrew and slithered leisurely out of the door in her master's wake.

Slumped up against the wall, he tried to pull himself up but couldn't summon the strength. He could feel a tingling, burning sensation spreading from his ruined neck which he knew would be the venom working its way through his veins, destroying him cell by cell as it went. He had the absurd thought that he wished he'd brought a bezoar with him, but as his vision clouded, he had the feeling he might be in need of a little more than that...

* * *

Watching the execution unfold in front of them in silent horror, Harry had his hand stuffed into his mouth and was biting on his knuckles to avoid crying out from the pain of feeling Voldemort's rage through his scar. Hermione's face had gone as white as Snape's had been, as it had dawned on him what his master's plans for him were. As soon as the trio knew the coast was clear, they burst into the room and the boys stood and looked at the professor, lying mangled and bleeding at their feet. One of Snape's boots was twitching slightly as he convulsed. Hermione let out a strangled sob, and dashed to him, kneeling by his side and pressing her hand to the visible wounds.

"Oh! Hang on, sir! Just hang on! I've got something to help..." She grabbed her small beaded bag and fished around inside frantically. Frustrated, she stuck her wand into the opening and cried out, "Accio bezoar!" A small, hard, mottled brown stone leapt out of the bag and into her hand. She carefully pushed it past the professor's lips, which had earlier turned as white as his face had done, but were now striped with splashes of bright red, like much of the rest of his exposed skin.

Continuing to search her bag, Ron and Harry stood back and gawped as she extracted several glass bottles and flasks from the depths and lined them up on the floor next to her.

"Dittany... Wiggenweld... Blood-Replenisher..." she muttered to herself. Picking up each one in turn and unstoppering it, she poured them gently either into Snape's mouth or onto his wounds, all the time talking to him reassuringly, in-between racking sobs.

When he'd closed his eyes, Hermione had gasped, thinking that maybe her efforts hadn't been in time. Pressing her fingers to the side of his neck that wasn't lacerated, she could faintly detect the weakest of pulses. Without thinking, she leant forward over him and kissed the top of his head fervently, in between rifling through his robes to ascertain the extent of the damage, and dabbing various potions onto the wounds.

Her back to the boys, she missed their startled expressions upon seeing their friend's tender gesture towards the hated professor.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice cut through the sounds of scraping shoes, clinking bottles and other sounds of her efforts. "Let him go, you can't do anything. He deserves it anyway..." he said with a hint of bitterness as his words trailed off.

She yanked her head around to stare at him in fury, her eyes blinded by tears.

"He does _not_ deserve it! Nobody deserves this, but especially not hi-" Another loud sob escaped her. "Your dad survived Nagini's bite, didn't he? It doesn't mean-" Blinking back more tears, she turned back to Snape, who was still lying prone on the floor. Harry came to join Hermione at his side, a mixed expression of revulsion, confusion and sympathy etched across his weary features.

"What do you need, Hermione?" he asked softly, placing his hand on one of the crystal vials filled with some nameless potion. She turned and shot him a weak smile, grateful for his compassion towards the both of them. They both jumped as Snape's eyes flew open suddenly, and another rasping gurgle escaped his lips.

"**Take... it... Take... it..."** A stream of something that they both realised were memories was flooding out of the professor's mouth. Hermione snatched up one of the empty flasks from the floor, and gently guided the silvery mist into it with her wand.

"**Look... at... me..."**

Harry met Snape's gaze for a second; somehow his black eyes, which had always seemed so cold and impenetrable, were now full of warmth and depth. The Slytherin looked at him for a second, before his gaze then darted to the side where Hermione sat quietly next to her friend. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and picked up his hand from the floor. Cradling it in hers, the obsidian eyes fixed on her chocolate brown ones, momentarily in razor sharp focus. She started as she felt him lift his hand from hers and raise it falteringly to her face, his long fingers tracing the line of her jaw. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but all that escaped his lips was a tired-sounding sigh, then suddenly his hand fell away from her, and thudded to the floor.


	21. The Memory Remains

**A/N: Sorry to have kept you lot on tenterhooks, thanks for all your kind words!**

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Memory Remains**

Almost immediately, Ron and Harry had started discussing taking the memories to the Pensieve. Hermione didn't disagree, seeing as they had next to no idea what to do next. Severus hadn't managed to convey very much to her in terms of Dumbledore's plan to defeat Voldemort, but she was sure he must have had a deeper knowledge of the situation than them, and hopefully there might be something in there that could help.

As the boys had made to leave the Shack and return to the castle, they'd called to Hermione who was still at Snape's side, fiddling with bits from her bag and untying the cravat from his neck to use as a compress on the wounds, having undone half the buttons down the front of the black frock coat to gain access.

"'Mione, he's dead - you can just leave him." Ron shuffled his feet uncomfortably by the tunnel entrance.

"He's... not... dead..." she'd said through gritted teeth, waving them away in frustration.

"Fine! We'll go to the Pensieve and see what's in his memories. You stay here and do face-to-face with Snape or whatever," he snapped back at her, clearly not understanding why she would waste her time on saving the Dark Wizard.

As they left, Harry shooting her a concerned, slightly apologetic glance on his way out, Hermione let out one last distraught sob, then took a deep breath in and composed herself.

Checking his wounds, the bleeding seemed to have been staunched for the moment, although she knew full well - thanks to Arthur Weasley's similar run-in with Nagini - that it would certainly need more comprehensive healing than she could offer him here, but it would do for now. Hand to his clammy forehead, she felt again for his pulse which was no stronger than before, then put her hand in front of his mouth to check his breathing. Nothing. Panicking suddenly, she removed the bezoar from his mouth and dragged him by his legs down from where he was sat slumped against the wall, so that he was lying flat on the dusty, bloody floor.

_Face-to-face_, Ron had said. Trust him to be almost-right about something Muggle. Ripping open the rest of the coat buttons, Hermione bent right over him until their noses touched. Suddenly struck by a heart-wrenching memory of the last time she'd had her lips on his, she took a gentle but firm hold of his nose and blew two long, steady breaths into his mouth. Bracing herself, she locked the fingers of both hands together and placed them over his breastbone. Pushing down firmly, she started to give him chest compressions. After twenty or thirty seconds, she leant down to his face again to see if she could feel any movement of air against her skin. Still nothing. Another couple of breaths and more compressions.

She repeated this for what felt like forever, until her arms were burning and her back ached. Suddenly, as she went to put her mouth on his once more, she thought she noticed faint movement under his clothes. Tearing the shirt open to make sure, she laughed hysterically upon seeing his pale chest starting to rise and fall of its own accord. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, and she planted a relieved kiss on his damp forehead.

"You're okay! You're going to be okay."

"'Her-..." His voice croaked a single syllable, sounding like it took every ounce of effort he had.

"Shhh! Shh, shh... Don't speak. Save your strength. I've got to try and get you up to the castle somehow..."

His eyes opened with difficulty and she saw him, for the first time in her life, looking scared. For himself? For her? She couldn't tell.

"Nnn... Too... risk-..." Clearly her first aid efforts hadn't completely mended the damage done to his throat. His arm flailed up from his side briefly to try and grab at hers, before flopping back down to the ground. It reminded Hermione sickeningly of the time Gilderoy Lockhart had removed all Harry's bones after that nasty Quidditch injury, and she shuddered.

"Sir... Severus... please? It'll be tricky getting across the grounds and through the castle, but you need Madam Pomfrey to take a look at you, I can't heal these sort of wounds completely - I've done my best but..." She frowned in concentration, assessing his current condition. "You'll probably need to go to St Mungo's anyway I should think - at least they have experience of this sort of thing." Suddenly a look of incredulity struck her. "We're outside the school boundaries! I can Side-Along Apparate with you straight to the hospital! Can you stand?" She started to gather up her little beaded bag and all the detritus that had come out of it.

One of his feet kicked out feebly to try and get a purchase on the rotten floorboards. Seeing him struggle, Hermione took hold of his arm furthest away and pulled him towards her, rolling him onto his side. He let out a sharp hiss and his face contorted in pain.

"Sorry! So sorry, but I have to get you up." Kneeling, she rose up onto one leg, scooped one hand underneath his armpit, and held the other one out for him to grab onto.

"Come on sir, you can do it! You're the bravest man I've ever known, please! That's it!"

Snape summoned a superhuman strength from somewhere to push and pull himself up into her arms. Taking care not to touch the raw wounds that still covered one side of his upper body, she propped her shoulder under his arm and straightened up. He was a great deal taller than her, although thankfully even leaner than ever. His year under Voldemort's reign at the school had clearly taken its toll on him. She gripped hard onto his right sleeve and looked up at him. He met her gaze, looking weary, but not quite defeated. He gave her an infinitesimal nod.

With a soft 'pop', Hermione turned on the spot and the pair of them disappeared in an instant, leaving behind a large scuffed void in the dust, and several sizeable pools of congealing blood.

* * *

The Healers at St Mungo's had been astonished and alarmed when a young girl arrived in the foyer supporting a blood-soaked wizard on one arm, his coat slashed and torn, and a once-white shirt torn open almost to his navel. To their credit, they hadn't hesitated to come to their aid, swarming around them and putting Snape onto a stretcher, and wheeling him away down the corridor. Hermione hadn't been allowed to follow, much to her distress, but one of the Mediwizards in lime green robes had hung back to take a history from her. Fortunately he remembered who had treated Arthur Weasley's snakebite, and when Hermione had told him all she knew and thought was relevant, he hurried off after the other Healers to assist them.

Sitting dazed in a waiting room, she had time for everything to sink in. She wondered how the battle was going and felt bad for having not joined the boys, but on a practical level, Snape could be a valuable resource in the war and it seemed silly just to let him die for the sake of it. Then of course, there was the fact that just thinking about him injured tore a huge hole in her heart. She had no idea when she had come to think of him in that way - their relationship in her last few years at school had certainly become something more cordial than when she had first arrived at Hogwarts, but despite his gentle humorous needling, and occasional acts of kindness towards her, she had been unaware that he might have seen her as anything other than a student.

Perhaps it was merely a side effect of the stresses of life during war? Perhaps when - if - Voldemort was defeated, and peace resumed, he would have no further interest in her; she might merely have been a distraction, an outlet to blow off some steam? She could hardly bear to think of it. Best just to take each moment as it happened. There was very little more she could do for him here anyway and the guilt of leaving Hogwarts, just as things were reaching a crescendo, was becoming too much for her. Leaving her details with the Welcome Witch for them to contact her if his condition changed, (did Severus even _have_ any next of kin left?) she took a deep breath and collected her thoughts again.

Apparating back to the Shrieking Shack, the state of the room in the aftermath of the attack made her wince. He _should_ have died. Lucky that the three of them were there. Lucky that she had kept the bezoar that he had left for her at Grimmauld Place, and had some Dittany and a few other potions left to use on him. Lucky that Voldemort hadn't used the Killing Curse. Lucky- Surely not...? Despite herself, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Well, he _was_ a Potions master! Who better to brew up a cauldron full of Felix Felicis if he knew there was a storm coming? She shook her head wryly, making a mental note to quiz him on it later. Right now though, there were two more wizards in need of her help. Cramming herself back into the tunnel that lead to the Whomping Willow, she crawled through the darkness towards the castle...

* * *

Harry, open-mouthed, had just emerged from the shiny surface of the Pensieve. Snape had been in love with his mother?! And Dumbledore had known since the beginning: Harry would die. Everything Harry had ever known had been a lie, and yet it seemed like he had known all along. He used the Invisibility Cloak to avoid Ron who was waiting for him in the hallway, and made his way towards the Forbidden Forest, a dull sense of inevitability washing over him.

Half-tempted to call up Snape along with his friends and parents as he turned the Resurrection Stone over in his hand, just to see if the professor had truly died in the few hours since Voldemort's attack on him, and now full of questions about him, he instead chose just to spend a quiet few minutes in the company of the people whom he had loved most in life, and who had loved him in return. He'd just seen enough of Dumbledore in the Pensieve that he didn't want to get into a conversation with the former headmaster at that moment either - he wouldn't have known what to say to him.

The not-ghosts followed him to the clearing, where he summoned his final bit of courage and stepped out of the trees, towards Voldemort, and a green flash of light, and then nothing.

* * *

Hermione had been unable to find Harry on her return to the school. She had raced through the corridors firing curses at the occasional creature or Death Eater that crossed her path, passing by the doors to Dumbledore's office and the infirmary. No-one had been in there - clearly Madam Pomfrey was out in the role of field medic. Returning back down to the Great Hall, she ducked through the huge doors and scanned the crowd of faces. Most of the Weasleys were there, with McGonagall and a couple of the other professors. Trying not to think of the one among their number who was currently indisposed in London, she conferred with the others on potential strategies.

It was approaching four in the morning: the hour given for Harry to hand himself over to Voldemort had long passed. When the battalion of Death Eaters emerged from the Forbidden Forest and approached the castle, gathering in the courtyard with Hagrid holding Harry's limp body, her heart sank.

If she hadn't gone- hadn't taken Snape to St Mungo's... she could have protected him, could have stopped him, she thought, as she realised her friend had almost certainly gone to his death voluntarily. Harry had always been beyond noble, often to the point of stupidity.

In the ensuing confusion of Voldemort setting on fire the Sorting Hat, and the subsequent retreat back into the castle, Hermione had lost track of what had happened to Harry. Seeing Neville decapitate Nagini had roused her spirits faintly, knowing that she had been the final obstacle on their road to rendering her master mortal once more, but she couldn't bear it if her best friend was defiled, even in death. Hagrid hadn't been able to recover his body after having been forced to lay him at Lord Voldemort's feet, and he was thoroughly upset about it. Hermione had tried to console him, in-between shooting off Stunners in all directions. Bellatrix Lestrange was cackling madly and taking on all comers.

Teaming up with Luna and Ginny, Hermione battled her furiously, but the older witch managed to keep them at bay. She had to admit, when Molly Weasley had pushed them out of the way and engaged her cousin alone, she had felt more than a little relieved. And when Bellatrix had died moments later, and Harry had thrown off the Cloak and revealed himself to be still alive, she was more relieved still.

Astonished as Harry recounted to the room of combatants about how Dumbledore had plotted his own death with Snape, and had planned for the Elder Wand to go to the Potions master, she felt a huge pang of empathy for poor Severus. He had been in the thick of it, and left totally alone when the Headmaster had died. He hadn't even gained possession of the most powerful Hallow, and she hoped he hadn't been too worried about what would happen after Dumbledore's plan had been derailed slightly.

Then the news of his enduring love for Lily Potter had shocked her so much she thought she'd been hit with a Stunning Spell right in the chest. Hermione suddenly felt very small, and foolish for thinking that he might have ever felt something for her. She had truly been nothing more than a distraction from the peril surrounding them. How could she ever be anything else? He was so much older than her: more mature, more experienced. She was just a know-it-all girl, who happened to be friends with the boy he had been trying to help. Still, she swallowed down her injured pride. The fact remained, he was genuinely a very brave man, for all his faults - she couldn't deny him that. And if he chose to use her and cast her aside, well then, that was fine by her - she was a big girl, she'd pick herself up and get over it. She tried hard not to think, a little uncharitably, of going to St Mungo's and begging them to save his life, just so she could kill him again.

* * *

It was nearly six weeks following the defeat of Tom Riddle before Hermione saw Snape again, although he had been in her thoughts almost constantly, much to her annoyance. She, like a lot of others, had stayed behind after the battle to help with the clean-up. There were walls to be mended, ceilings to be fixed. She even felt sorry for Filch for the first time ever, as he pottered about the castle, pushing halfheartedly at piles of rubble with a broom. One sunny afternoon, Professor McGonagall took her to one side for a chat.

"Oh, Miss Granger! I'm glad I found you. my dear! Madam Pomfrey has asked me to tell you - she sends her congratulations for your efforts in helping Severus. She told me it was rather impressive work, for someone who has no formal training in Healing."

Hermione offered her a weak smile.

"Oh, it's nothing, professor."

"Oh! I would hardly say it was nothing, Hermione!" The older witch smiled affectionately at her. "Thanks to your prompt intervention, and Mister Potter's testimony, not only is Severus still in the land of the living, but the Ministry has declared him innocent on all counts and he's due to be released from St Mungo's in the next week or so."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how she felt about this. Obviously she was pleased that he was alive, and she very much doubted he would be returning to teach the next year or any other, given that his entire career had been a front for his spying activities, under the safety net of Albus Dumbledore's protection. He'd clearly not be needing either in the future. A lot of the fugitive Death Eaters had already been tracked down and either killed in firefights, or apprehended and taken to Azkaban. Snape's survival had also not been made public knowledge up until then, outside of the few people who had been directly involved in his miraculous escape from death, and subsequent recuperation.

The other people present in the Great Hall on the morning of May second had presumed he had died at Lord Voldemort's hand in the struggle to win the Elder Wand, and even Harry hadn't been keen to disabuse anyone of that notion. He felt rather awkward about the whole thing, and he'd only had a couple of subdued conversations with Hermione about it since. He wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to feel about the man who had marred his school years ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts, now that he knew they had been on the same side the whole time. The reason for Snape's change of allegiance was also an awkward topic of conversation for the both of them.

Hermione rather wished that she had actually developed feelings for Harry instead. Her best friend was everything she could want in a wizard: intelligent, talented and kind. But sadly she still felt nothing towards him more than amicable affection. Just as well really, she mused, as he and Ginny seemed to have rekindled things after their split following Dumbledore's funeral. It was nice to see them happy, at least.

Harry seemed to have realised that there was something going on between her and Snape, at least from Hermione's direction, and the knowledge that the professor who seemed to have gone out of his way to appear unapproachable and inhuman, had secretly harboured a thirty year obsession with his dead mother had been difficult to process. Snape had known Lily Potter longer than his own father had, and he was the only person still alive from whom Harry might be able to get an idea of the woman she'd been. Ron, for his part, seemed to be utterly clueless as to the fact that one of his best friends might have feelings for their dour Potions master.

She supposed he must have thought that the fervent kiss she had pressed to his head that night in the Shack, and her frantic efforts to save him, had been motivated by nothing more than her sheer good-hearted nature and nurturing instinct(!) Ron could be so dense sometimes. All the same, she was rather glad she didn't have to deal with him telling her how gross Snape was, and how gross she was for liking him. He'd be happy to know that Severus was obviously still pining over Harry's mother, and therefore unavailable for any commitment to her.

Realising that McGonagall seemed to be expecting a response from her on the subject of Snape's imminent hospital discharge, she stammered pathetically, "Oh, uh... that's great I suppose, professor. Great."

Frowning, upon seeing her star pupil seemingly lost for words for once, but presuming it to be a side-effect from the trauma she had been through lately, McGonagall took her arm and patted it gently.

"Yes, the Healers tell me they've never seen anything like it. He's made a remarkable recovery, they're very pleased. Poppy won't have too much work to do, I shouldn't think."

Now Hermione was more confused. "Poppy?" she supplied, weakly.

"Oh yes dear, didn't I mention? He's well enough to be discharged from St Mungo's, but seeing as he lives alone at home, they and I decided it was better that Severus return here to the infirmary under Madam Pomfrey's care, just until he's fully recovered. To be honest, it's probably more of a home for him here than Cokeworth anyway, poor boy," the acting-headmistress added, voice full of sympathy. "Always has been. He normally spent most of the holidays here in the castle, from when he was a wee lad, right through until he was teaching and perfectly capable of living independently."

This surprised Hermione slightly, who thought that a committed misanthrope like Snape would surely have jumped at the chance to escape from a castle full of noisy, disrespectful, dim-witted little children who seemingly blighted his life from morning 'til night. She wondered how comfortable he would be with Minerva disclosing intimate details about his private life, even to the girl who had saved him.

"Have... have you visited him? At St Mungo's?" She sounded stupid, even to her ears. Professor McGonagall fixed her with a warm smile.

"Yes, I saw him last week. Have you not been to see Severus yet, my dear? I would have thought... I would have thought seeing as you were the one... you might have-? Has he not _asked_ for you to visit?" She pursed her lips slightly, in a mild version of an expression that Harry, Ron and Hermione were all very familiar with, and which normally wasn't good news when directed at them. Thinking that the last thing she wanted was for an angry McGonagall to march down to St Mungo's and tear Snape a new one for being ungrateful at having his life saved, she stammered out an excuse hurriedly.

"Oh... well... I'm sure he would have, Professor. I didn't know whether he was up for having visitors yet, and I've been so busy lately helping out here to fix up the castle..." She trailed off, hoping that would be sufficient explanation for the headmistress.

"Of course," she smiled indulgently at Hermione, "Well, you'll have plenty of time for him to thank you next week, don't worry. And I'm sure Poppy would appreciate your help with a few minor repairs to the hospital wing, as well as perhaps doing some brewing for her to replenish her stores? I think you've earned a break from doing the strenuous repair efforts by now; I'll let her know you'll be joining her up there, my dear."

Before Hermione could protest, McGonagall had patted her arm reassuringly and swept authoritatively down the corridor and away. She sighed. She still needed to go and find her parents in Australia at some point, so if she met Snape and it all went horribly wrong, she could probably just exploit her newly elevated status due to her key role in Voldemort's downfall to make a hasty exit from the castle and take some personal time. She thought nobody would deny that much to a friend of Harry Potter.


	22. Medicate

**A/N: gisela19wwe, it's like you read my draft ;) Hopefully this chapter meets your expectations!**

**Fluff ahoy! And maybe a bit of angst...**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Medicate**

Resting in the infirmary, with a two-day-old copy of the _Daily Prophet_ lying open on the bed in front of him, Severus Snape was back at Hogwarts. Out of sheer stubbornness, he had willed his own body on to recover as quickly as possible. He hated being weak, and the fact that he was still malingering, while others were helping in the effort to repair the battle damage and apprehend the Dark Lord's fleeing minions, lying in a soft, comfortable bed and catching up on the news, irritated him. Minerva had recounted to him on one of her visits to his private bedside in St Mungo's, the details of the final duel between Potter and Voldemort. He had slept soundly that night: his debt to Lily was paid. And what's more, the boy had survived, against all expectations. He was glad that Potter hadn't come to visit him himself, however. Snape flushed with embarrassment and shame at the thought of the memories he had shared with him, back when he had thought he would perish. Most of them had been relevant to Potter's mission to destroy the Dark Lord of course, but he couldn't help feel that if he'd been slightly more lucid, or knew that it had not been the end for him, that he might have concealed the truth of why he had pledged his allegiance to Dumbledore so devoutly in the first place. Now that the pair of them were both still alive, and aware of the uncomfortable historical, and highly intimate, link between Snape and his family, things between them would doubtless be even more strained than before.

He was, however, more than slightly disappointed that Hermione Granger hadn't come to visit him. He vaguely remembered her dropping him off with the St Mungo's Healers, and then that was it. She had presumably returned to the battle and he couldn't blame her for that, but he did think she might have passed by in the weeks since. There was no reason for her to suddenly want to avoid hi-

_Potter_! He'd told her! Damn the little sod! He'd broken Snape's confidence and revealed the contents of his memories to the girl, completely unaware of the fact that there was something developing between the two of them. And she, with no way to read Snape's mind as he could have done hers, had believed him to still be in love with Lily. And he was, he couldn't deny it. But it wasn't the same way he had loved her in his youth. Not the same way he loved Granger... Wait, really?! Did he _love_ the girl?! Flapping the corner of the _Prophet_ brusquely to straighten the pages, he tried to bury himself in an article about the emergency reforms Kingsley Shacklebolt had brought in to the Ministry of Magic since being elected Minister, but it was no good. Folding the paper grumpily, he flung it onto the bedside table and rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers up to his chin, and willing himself asleep.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, Hermione made her way from Gryffindor Tower down to the hospital wing. She had said hello to Poppy Pomfrey, who was rushing around the infirmary doing various tasks and barely stopped to greet her newest assistant. There were one or two other patients in there at the moment: a couple of other victims of the battle, whose wounds hadn't been so serious as to require being transferred to St Mungo's. The bed right at the back of the room in the corner, with the curtains drawn tightly around it, must be Snape's.

Deciding eventually that she couldn't avoid him forever, and admitting reluctantly to herself that she was morbidly curious to see his reaction to her appearance there, she set her shoulders and marched down the room, under the semi-pretence of bringing him a potion.

"Sir? Professor Snape?" she called softly through the curtain.

"Yes?" She parted the barrier and stepped inside the bay. She had steeled herself for a frosty reaction from him, but upon seeing the wizard in front of her, any façade she might have been planning to put up between them to protect herself vanished.

"Sir!" He was even more gaunt than the last time she had seen him - the dark circles that had appeared below his eyes over his year as headmaster had deepened slightly too. His voice, although he had only spoken one word to her, seemed almost back to its normal deep drawl, albeit with a slight hint of a rasp as if he had a sore throat. Something of an understatement, she thought. Nagini was huge enough that she might have bitten almost clean through his neck if she'd caught him at just the wrong angle. She shuddered at the memory. She had made sure to be extra-nice to Neville since the battle, in demonstration of her gratitude for his slaying of the monstrous serpent.

"Miss Granger..." She hadn't been wrong - he was distant towards her once again. The rapport they had developed over the previous couple of years had all been a sham. He could deceive Voldemort for the best part of two decades, so a silly schoolgirl with a crush would be no problem of course, she thought bitterly.

"I've brought your Blood-Replenishing Potion," she added, reluctant to engage him in anything more conversational than necessary. If she didn't let him in, he couldn't hurt her.

"I see, thank you. Is Poppy around?"

"No, she's just popped down to see Professor Sprout in the greenhouses - she said something earlier about harvesting the Chinese Chomping Cabbage I think..."

"Ah."

Self-conscious in his presence, she proffered the bottle towards him.

"There you go, sir. I'll be back in a couple of hours with some more for you."

Snape pursed his lips minutely in response.

"Actually, Miss Granger... Would you mind? My wounds are healing, but I'm afraid not all the damage is mended yet. My arm can still be rather... uncooperative... at times"

It was a bald lie, and he hoped Madam Pomfrey hadn't told her he was quite capable of reading, drinking and a great many other things independently once again.

"Oh!" she blushed. The sight of her skin darkening in embarrassment stirred something low in his belly, "Yes, of course! I'm sorry, sir."

She stepped forward up to the bed and unstoppered the glass vial of sticky, crimson potion.

"You made this?" He was beyond this - attempting to make small-talk with the girl, the same way a more socially adept person might strike up a conversation about the lovely weather they'd been having lately. He tipped his head in the direction of the open bottle in her hand, unnecessarily.

"What? Oh, no. It's one out of Madam Pomfrey's stores. I'm going to be helping her brew more though, I think." She lowered the potion to his lips, and tilted it ever so gently towards him.

It tasted like metal, and stuck to the roof of his mouth as he sipped at it. It could have been worse though - at least he hadn't needed Skele-gro. A particularly savage beating by his father when he'd been a boy had necessitated a trip to St Mungo's with his mother once, and he'd had to have several doses of the foul-tasting liquid to help heal his shattered arm. Ironically it had been his left, and the Dark Mark had long since covered up one or two of the resulting scars on his skin, although even that was now fading.

With the Blood-Replenisher all gone, Granger re-stoppered the vial and made to step away from the bed. He didn't know why, but he suddenly fixed her with an intense stare that would have surely stopped her in her tracks even had he not spoken.

"Stay." She looked like she'd been hit with an Impediment Jinx.

"Sir?"

"Sit."

Her eyes simultaneously looked both wide with surprise, and narrowed in suspicion; she nevertheless took a step towards him again, and perched very carefully on the edge of the bed where he had pointed, down near his knees. She said nothing.

"I hear the repairs to the castle are going well?" Lame, even by his standards.

"Oh, yes sir. Professor McGonagall seems to have everything in hand."

"I can imagine. She was always a very capable deputy, even when she believed us to be at odds. I am pleased the Ministry allowed her to take over following my _departure_." It was such an absurd euphemism for the ferocious duel - and his subsequent flight through a window - that Hermione couldn't help laughing, despite herself.

"That's... one word for it sir I suppose. Now the Ministry's cleared you though, don't you want to be reinstated as headmaster yourself?"

"Merlin's beard, no! Minerva is welcome to that particular honour. I was forced into the role by the Dark Lord and Headmaster Dumbledore. It is not one I would have ever wished for myself. You might have noticed, perhaps, that egalitarian authority does not come particularly naturally to me... I didn't even expect to survive." He looked down at the bedsheet covering his scarred torso.

"You're a hero, I'm glad you did."

"A hero? Hardly - I was just doing my job, carrying out Dumbledore's orders. However distasteful." He looked surprised at her high opinion of him, after everything he'd said and done to her and her friends over the years.

"We, um..." She stared at the floor and bit her lip nervously. "Harry said. He told You-Know-Who. What you'd done. Why you'd done it."

Snape flushed suddenly, face hot with shame and anger. His memories were supposed to have helped guide the boy, and maybe apologise in some small way for his behaviour; to atone for his sins against Lily Evans's son. Not to be broadcast for public entertainment and ridicule. It was bad enough when he believed Potter might have divulged the information to his two friends, but in front of the whole school?! He felt a little sick. Perhaps it would have been better if he HAD died - at least then he wouldn't be able to be embarrassed. Lost in thought for a second, he suddenly felt a warm hand upon his cold one, which rested on the bed beside his body. His head snapped up to look at her, and she summoned the courage to look squarely at him and met his gaze with a look of what he presumed was sympathy. Or perhaps pity.

"I think you were very brave. And it's an amazing thing you did for Harry. For Lily." Her eyes slid back towards the floor. "She was lucky to have someone to care for her like you, sir."

Snape considered her words. Yes, he did care for Lily - would always care for her, in a certain way. But over the years his feelings had tempered. No longer the fiery passion of youth: the burning act now, think later... She had a place in his life, in his heart, always. But he was a slave to a dead woman no longer. He had repaid his debt.

Clearing his throat gingerly he rasped, "It seems to me that Mister Potter is lucky to have a friend like you, Miss Granger."

Now it was her turn to blush. "Oh, well, it's like you said. We were just following Dumbledore's instructions. Such as they were, I suppose. What other choice did we have?"

"Indeed." His eyes closed again and his head fell back onto the pillow. She seemed to realise that she was still holding his hand and abruptly withdrew, smoothing at the blankets on the bed as she fidgeted awkwardly.

"Well, I think I'd better get on with helping Madam Pomfrey then," she said, making to leave.

"Very well... Wait! Miss Granger...? Hermione?" Just as she had been about to go, he had shot his arm out to keep her there a moment longer. Half-standing already, when he had uttered her first name she sank back down onto the bed and stared at him thoughtfully.

"I haven't thanked you - for your actions in the Shrieking Shack. You have my eternal gratitude."

"Oh, well, it was nothing, really." Her eyes told him she wanted to say more than her mouth did. "I'd have done it for anyone," she added, in a slightly prickly tone.

"Of course. I just wanted to... About our... Actually, it's of no matter." He lost his nerve.

Hermione's warm brown eyes had turned rather cold and hard; glittering slightly in the morning light, in suppression of something fiery within, and her delicate jaw was clenched.

"Right. Well, if that's all you had to say...?"

Damn it. What did she want from him? Their brief dalliance in the Forest of Dean played on his mind every day, but he was no fool, and well knew that there was no possibility that in ordinary times - with no threat of capture and death to afford them wild abandon - that she would want him, would pick him, over the doubtless many other suitors that would be soon knocking on her door, if they weren't already.

"Let's just say I know your type, Miss Granger, and I am most certainly not it!" he snapped, briskly. There, he'd said it. He'd pushed her away so that she needn't feel guilty that her behaviour towards him had led him on; that he might expect more.

"Oh really?! Do tell me what my 'type' is, Professor, please?!" She met his anger with a feisty heat of her own. If he didn't want her, so be it! She had already gotten herself prepared for a reaction like that anyway. He could swoop around Hogwarts moping about Lily Potter for another twenty years if he liked - it was of no consequence to her!

"I am not so out of touch with social niceties that I didn't notice you mooning over Gilderoy Lockhart during your second year," he huffed, in perceived triumph at proving his point.

"_Lockhart_?!" she shrilled. Her cheeks reddened slightly - Snape thought in reaction to his accusation hitting its target. "Professor _Lockhart_-...! Half the school-...! Ugh!" She shook her head at him in disgust. "Alright! I did fancy Lockhart a bit. Only until I learned what an A-grade prat he was though! It was a teenage crush - just a stupid schoolgirl crush!" Her outrage suddenly died away slightly as a ghost of a smile crept over her lips. "Besides," she added, "Molly Weasley had a _calendar_ with him on that year, and nobody goes around accusing her of loving Arthur any less! And Mr Weasley and Professor Lockhart couldn't_ be_ more dissimilar! A physical attraction has absolutely no bearing on any romantic feelings you might have towards anyone else, it's just a crush! And also, I'd like to think I've matured a lot since then. I'd choose a man who made me laugh, made me think, over some idiotic pretty-boy any day!" She folded her arms in finality and stared at Snape, as if daring him to object.

Belatedly, he hoped that the one or two other patients in the infirmary with him were still currently sound asleep, as their conversation had become rather loud all of a sudden. Did she mean...? Surely not.

"I..." he was treading carefully at the moment, "I... did think at first... that I'd rather have died in the Shack, but now I'm glad I didn't..." He couldn't say it. Would she make him? Cautiously, he continued, "I loved Lily. I care for her still, I think for always. But she has the advantage of forever being that flawless teenage girl that I once knew long ago - unable to grow old and imperfect... It seems that I have a… type(!)"

Snape's cheek twitched minutely in a wry smile; half mocking himself, half testing the waters to see her response. For a heart-stopping moment, Hermione's expression didn't change, but then a slow smile spread across her face.

"You're a dunderhead," she said, turning his old insult back on him.

"I-" his brows knitted in confusion.

"You're such a dunderhead, Severus." She called him by his first name, and his heart started to beat again as he realised she had thawed finally. More than expected actually, as she then leant over him in the bed and planted a long kiss on his pallid cheek, being careful not to touch any of his still-healing injuries. He momentarily forgot that there were curtains around them, and his eyes darted up to check that it hadn't been noticed by anyone. She noticed, and laughed lightly at him, planting another delicate kiss on his forehead, and another on his nose.

"The big, bad Slytherin's afraid of being seen kissing?" She winked at him, and he suddenly wanted her to do a lot more than kiss him, and then abruptly hated himself for it.

"I won't deny I'm no angel, but there are still a _few_ lines I haven't crossed yet, Hermione..." he muttered.

"What line? I haven't been your student for the past year; I'm of age. I hardly think term's going to reconvene in time for you to take up your teaching position through 'til the summer holidays, with the state the castle's in. With the state we're all in..."

Her arm was stretched out, propping herself up across his legs on the bed. The sleeve of her shirt had ridden up, and he suddenly made out a series of rather angry-looking red scratch marks that defiled her smooth skin. Bringing both of his own arms out from under the covers, he reached for hers, and revealed the word 'Mudblood', which had clearly been carved deeply into her flesh, not too long ago.

"Bellatrix..." It came out as a whisper.

He said nothing in reply, but pulled up the sleeve of his gown over his left arm, and showed her his Dark Mark. It had faded ever so slightly already, but the skull and snake still stood out a mile on his veiny, pale arm. He traced a finger ever so lightly over the offending word on hers.

"We all have our scars."

A single tear fell from the corner of her eye at his words. Sniffling, she looked over to the bedside table where he had put the _Daily Prophet_. Pulling at the dark wooden box sticking out from underneath it, she opened the gold clasp on the case and examined the contents.

"Gobstones?" She cleared her throat, shrugging off her feeling of melancholy.

"Madam Pomfrey brought them up for me, she thinks I've been getting restless; she's been trying to keep me entertained so I don't do anything _rash_." He emphasised the word sardonically, as if no-one could ever accuse him of doing such a thing.

"Do you play?"

He smirked. "Rather well, actually. My mother taught me - she was the Captain of the school team while she was here at Hogwarts."

"Oh, yes I know!" You could have knocked Severus down with a feather, had he not already been lying down.

"You _know_?"

"I found a picture of her - Eileen - from the paper, while I was trying to look into the Half-Blood Prince's identity for Harry." She seemed surprised to have forgotten all about it, although he wasn't, given everything that had occurred in the long year since.

"Is there anything you can't find in a book, Miss Granger?" He was teasing, and she jokingly feigned throwing a Gobstone at his head. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger." His eyebrows raised haughtily.

"Yeah, well, I bet I could beat you in a game!"

"I don't want to play Gobstones with you, Hermione."

She frowned, worried that he was tiring. "You don't?"

"No."

"Shall I go, then?"

"No." He patted the empty bit of bed next to him, encouraging her to move further up towards him. After she had shuffled closer, he put an arm up around her shoulders, and guided her back to lie alongside him. She gave him an enquiring look.

"Maybe I _have_ spent too long in hiding..." he sighed. They heard footsteps at the end of the corridor, passing the hospital wing, and fading away into the distance. Squeezing her tight around the middle as best he could, with one arm underneath her he bent his head down and, tossing a few flyaway strands of long, black hair away from his face, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She lay there in his arms for a while. It felt like forever, and yet not long enough. Eventually another set of footsteps approached, and these ones didn't fade away but became louder, until it was obvious someone else had entered the infirmary.

Snape made no effort to move either her or himself, but continued to lie there with his nose pressed into her chestnut curls. Sighing, Hermione made a move at the last minute, extricating herself gently from his embrace and getting up off the bed. She straightened her robes, tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and did the same for him, before picking up the empty Blood-Replenishing bottle and swishing her way through the screen, glancing back to give him the most enchanting smile he'd ever seen.

"Ah, Miss Granger - there you are!" Poppy Pomfrey's voice reached him past the curtain. "Is that Professor Snape's Blood-Replenishing Potion? Excellent! If you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to come into my office a second and have a look at the other potions we need..."

Her voice trailed off, and Severus picked up the _Prophet_ from the table again. Flicking to the sports pages at the back, he'd read two stories about the Holyhead Harpies' latest charity match against the Chudley Cannons (the Harpies had unsurprisingly had a resounding win), before fatigue overtook him again, despite having only been awake for a few hours already. When Hermione left the infirmary later to head back to the dormitory, she poked her head around to check on him and smiled to herself to see him sound asleep, breathing heavily and with the newspaper flopped across his chest.


	23. Okay, I Feel Better Now

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Okay, I Feel Better Now**

For the next fortnight or so, Hermione often brought Severus his daily potions while she was helping out in the infirmary, although they hadn't managed to get much time alone. He had, eventually, deigned to play her at Gobstones one afternoon, and as she got a face full of foul-tasting liquid from one of his playing pieces, (to much rumbling laughter from him) she suggested they have a game of wizard chess instead. That had wiped the smile off his face! As it turned out, he needn't have been so worried, as neither of them really knew the rules and were just as bad as eachother. As Hermione swiped one of his bishops from the board, who was gesturing crossly at him, Snape let out a deep sigh he hadn't known he was holding.

"Are you okay?" She'd instantly forgotten the game, and was frowning at him. He was touched by her concern, however unnecessary.

"Just finding my incarceration a little tedious, that's all. I'm certain I'm quite capable of getting up and about by now."

"I'll go and ask Madam Pomfrey." And with that, she'd gotten up off the bed and gone to the Healer's office. Returning a couple of minutes later, she was beaming at him.

"She says you can start getting up and about now, if you're sure you're okay? Don't do anything too strenuous though. She says to come straight back here if you start feeling light-headed, or you have any problem with sensation in your legs. She's got a wheelchair-"

"I will not be pushed about like some sort of invalid. I shall be quite alright moving about under my own steam. Perhaps with your assistance?" he conceded, shooting her a querying look. He started to peel back the blankets on the bed and swing his legs out and onto the cold stone floor below. Hermione looked delighted to be asked to accompany him, and scrabbled about under the bed searching out a pair of black moccasins that Madam Pomfrey had had brought up from Snape's personal quarters after he'd arrived in the hospital wing. Seeing him make no effort to bend to put them on, she knelt and cradled his sinewy calf in one hand and slipped them on for him, cupping the bottom of his foot in her other. When he had both on, she stood back and observed him.

"Oh. Um... Do you want a change of clothes? I can come back in a bit?" Was it his imagination, or did she flush slightly? Was it the image of him undressing? He suppressed a smirk. Looking down at himself, he took in his plain white hospital gown. He looked like one of the Hogwarts ghosts, but paler.

"I believe Madam Pomfrey had some more of my things brought up here. There should be some clothing in that drawer?" He pointed at the cabinet near his bed.

She opened it and pulled out a pair of plain black cotton pyjamas. The top had a thin strip of emerald green piping around the edge. She held them out to him at arm's length.

"There you go."  
He took them from her and placed them down carefully next to him.

"Thank you."

"I'll... I'll go wait outside for you. Call me when you're..."

She _was_ embarrassed! A surge of something hot coursed through him like he'd had a draught of Euphoria-Inducing Elixir. Hermione Granger, thinking about him stripping off! He raised his eyebrows at her amusedly, causing her to back out of the hospital bay through the curtains, still blushing.

Gingerly, he shucked off his gown and slipped into the loose pyjama trousers. Tying the drawstring at the waist, he called out to her.

"You may come back in, Miss Granger."

A small hand slipped back through the curtains hesitantly, parting them for the rest of her to follow. He was standing a few feet in front of her, and she immediately averted her eyes to the window as she saw he was shirtless. He cleared his throat.

"Ahem. My arm's still a little stiff," He wondered how long he could string that one out for! "Would you mind-...?" He nodded towards the pyjama jacket which remained lying on the bed. Eyes still refusing to alight on his naked torso, Hermione ducked past him and picked it up, unfolding it and giving it a light shake out. Snape held an arm out to one side and she slipped the sleeve onto it, and up over his bare shoulder. Putting that arm down and raising the other one slightly behind him, she pulled it round him with great care, before easing his other hand in.

"Would you-?" He ducked his chin towards his chest to indicate his request.

She stood directly in front of him, the top of her head came to just below his chin. In silence, she started to fasten the buttons, taking care not to touch the angry, pink skin on his neck where Nagini had tried to eat him. Starting at the top, she got slower and slower as she worked her way down. He thought neither of them were breathing. When he was all buttoned in, she tilted her head up at him, brown eyes soft and full of something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Brushing a piece of lint lightly from his chest, she stood back and assessed him.

"All done. Are you sure you don't want the chair? Never mind!" she added, seeing him scowl.

"I shan't overexert myself, don't fret." It was a lie, they both knew it. Ambition and determination came naturally to him as a Slytherin, and Severus would push himself to the very limit if he could. Hermione stepped towards him and offered an arm out for him to grasp. He took it, then leaned more closely up against her, placing his arm across her shoulders for support. If she was surprised, she didn't show it, and after a moment's hesitation he felt her arm slide around his lower back, her hand coming to rest just above his hip at the far side. Suppressing a vague memory of them in the same position not so long ago, in a dirty, dusty shack, surrounded by blood, he looked down his long nose at her to check she was happy with their arrangement, then took a couple of hesitant steps across the ward. His legs held out, so that was something.

"I'd like a bit of fresh air I think. Poppy does open the windows, but it's not quite the same as being outdoors in the grounds in summer."

Together, they arduously shuffled their way out of the hospital wing and down to the Entrance Hall. He noticed a few people staring at the pair of them, but those who remained at Hogwarts were by now aware of his role in double-crossing the Dark Lord during the war, following his Ministry-sanctioned pardon. He hoped that that was all they were aware of, in regards to his loyalties.

Once outside, he told her to head down towards the lake. She never hurried him, never complained about his weight against her, although he reminded himself that there was probably a great deal less of that these days than there might otherwise have been. The last year or so had not been kind to his physical conditioning.

At the edge of the lake, Hermione knelt down on the grass and prompted him to use her to help himself down to the ground. Bracing himself on her shoulders, he winced slightly as tight skin pulled, unused muscles contracted, but then he was down.

"Better." He inhaled deeply in the warm air, eyes half-closing in contemplation. They sat side by side, their legs stretched out in front of them. "I'd almost forgotten what the mountains looked like."

He heard her shift beside him, then felt her lean gently up against his non-injured side, resting her head over onto his shoulder.

"It's beautiful. I forget sometimes not everyone has the opportunity to view scenery like this. You take it for granted a bit, living here day in day out." She sighed. Snape turned his head down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"And thanks to you, I'll be able to experience it for a lot longer."

She looked up at him. "You're staying? You're going to come back and teach?"

"What else would you expect me to do? I've done nothing else for over fifteen years, and I doubt very much anyone other than the school would employ me now. Pardon notwithstanding." Ministry paperwork probably wasn't worth the parchment it was written on, he thought scornfully.

"Oh! I don't know... I just assumed-... I assumed you were only teaching because you had to stay working for Dumbledore? And now... I thought you'd be aching to get away from here - all those kids blowing up cauldrons and being know-it-alls?" She grinned self-deprecatingly. "You must be fed up of it by now?"

He sat thoughtfully for a second, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing against him.

"It is true. If only there was a wizarding equivalent of Muggle universities - somewhere I might be assured of instructing sensible students, who appreciate the subtle science of potion-making, the beauty of a softly-simmering cauldron..." They turned to each other, and both let out a burst of laughter at the same time. "I've already used that one on you before, haven't I?" His eyes narrowed in momentary self-doubt, and mild irritation.

"First year," she replied brightly. "It was very impressive. I think Harry copied down every word!" Hermione lifted her head to plant a kiss on his gaunt face.

"Ahh, well... Perhaps I did manage to teach Mister Potter something after all, then? My half-decade of instruction was not _entirely_ in vain(!)" Appearing distracted, she saw he was scanning the horizon over her head: checking to see if anyone else was around - and presumably, if they had seen her give him a peck on the cheek.

"I'm sorry." She shifted slightly away from him. "Do you not want-...? Are we keeping this-...? I don't even know what this _is_, never mind what everyone will think of it..." She waved her hand vaguely in front of them in a gesture indicating them both, and the bond between them. Her voice was filled with pain she struggled to conceal, and he felt suddenly bad. Snaking an arm round behind her, he encircled her shoulder and pulled her close again.

"I didn't mean... I have no wish to conceal our... friendship... from people, if that's what you were asking?"

Now she looked pained as well as sounded it.

"Our- Yes, of course..."

Ugh, he was no good at this. Precious wonder he'd driven away the only other good female friend he'd ever had!

"Our relationship." She looked up at him then, still unsure, but her mood brightening.

"Our... relationship..."

"I see no reason to hide anything anymore. The Death Eaters have spent a great deal of time trying to kill you already, so I doubt it'd make you too much of a target - they have more important things on their minds running from Shacklebolt and his Aurors anyway, I'm sure... You're of age, and even if I'm permitted to resume my position as professor here, I doubt you'll be returning here as my student..." Seeing her start to open her mouth, he paused.

"Ah, well, I _had_ actually thought about coming back to take my NEWTs next year... If the school's reopened by then, of course."

Of course she had. A little thing like a year of narrowly escaping death, and battling the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world wouldn't put Hermione Granger off exams(!)

"Well, I'm sure Minerva shouldn't have a problem with it anyway. I shall just have to use some emotional blackmail if she makes any protestations. We Slytherins are rather good at cunning, when called for. And she still owes me for that little duel just prior to my... _resignation_." That smirk again. "You being in her House, and a star student... I'm sure she'll be falling over herself to accommodate you."

"Mmm, well you're certainly owed a great deal of gratitude. From everyone."

Snape shifted his leg, which was in danger of falling asleep.

"Perhaps. And yet... there is only one person for whom I wish to be in my debt. And I will not force her into repaying it."

Hermione looked up at him, smiling warmly in recognition.

"I owe you so much as well. How would you like me to square up?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath which turned out to be his own, as she placed her hand on his thigh and massaged his leg slowly through his pyjama trousers.

"Miss Granger, I- Hermione..."

Her fingers wandered up and down his leg, teasing and tantalising. Just as he thought she was starting to go high enough to verge on indecent, she trailed back down almost to his knee again, before slowly climbing her way back up.

"_Hermione_..." Gently, he placed his hand on hers, just as she was rubbing his inner thigh with a soft thumb. "Just because Minerva might not disapprove of a private relationship between us, I am not certain that would extend to, ah- _public_ _displays of affection_. Especially _very_ public ones. And very _affectionate_ ones. As much as I would like to," he added, lest she think he didn't want her - he very much did, even in his current weakened state. Compromising, he pressed a firm kiss to her lips and she seemed content with that. She returned his embrace enthusiastically, her mouth hot and wet on his, instant passion igniting as she nipped at his bottom lip and kissed him until his lips tingled with the friction. He raked his fingers up through her hair and cradled her head in his hand, holding her to him until they gasped for breath. Parting finally, she winked seductively at him.

"Well, I suppose that's _part_ of my debt settled..."

She thought she was funny - he'd show her. Growling softly, he pulled her head to him again and kissed her even harder, allowing his tongue to dart into her mouth until she let out a moan. Now _he_ was going to be the one committing a highly public display of affection, if he didn't stop himself. Thank Merlin for Occlumency. Finally shutting down most of his emotions with great difficulty, he released his hold on her and she sat back, biting at her now-swollen bottom lip and grinning from ear to ear.

"You're not bad at that, you know? Of course, practice makes perfect!"

He couldn't help but laugh. It had been so long since he'd been free to - since he'd wanted to - enjoy even a halfway normal life, and he was quite happy to be making up for lost time.

* * *

The pair of them enjoyed several more outings around the grounds over the following weeks, sometimes strolling down to the Quidditch pitch or taking one of the small boats out on the lake. Pointing his wand lazily at them, the oars started to row them out across the water. Hermione lay in his lap, watching Jobberknolls flit silently through the air as they swooped across the water to snatch flies from the surface, before twisting up and away in flash of blue plumage. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the cries of a white-tailed eagle.

Snape stroked her hair, lost in thought. She snuggled closer to him - they were no longer concerned about whether people saw them or not. It was now a sort of open secret amongst the remaining residents at Hogwarts, and so far nobody had come out and said anything to them directly. Probably afraid Snape might poison their morning pumpkin juice, she thought amusedly, or maybe dangle them by their ankles with a sneaky Levicorpus.

The castle was now almost back to its former glory, minus a few cosmetic bits here and there. Ron and Harry had spent a few days at the school now and again, lending a hand, but Ron had mostly been spending time with his remaining family as Molly Weasley had scarcely wanted any of them out of her sight since the battle. Harry had slipped away quietly, returning to Grimmauld Place. Hermione knew he was conflicted about staying there, the childhood home of his beloved godfather, but a place that Sirius had been so eager to escape himself.

Nevertheless, it beat living with the Dursleys at Privet Drive, although his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon probably wouldn't have allowed him back anyway now that he was a grown adult and no longer in need of his familial blood protection from Voldemort. Hermione didn't know whether his aunt was even aware that Albus Dumbledore had died, but the threat of the wizard's wrath had seemed to be the only thing persuading her to continue caring for her nephew, such as she had, so it was unlikely she would open her door to Harry, without the threat of a Howler from the headmaster hanging over her. Somehow, she doubted her friend would mind very much.

On the few occasions she had seen Harry since the second of May he had seemed to enjoy her company, although he was weary and distracted. Neither of them had mentioned anything about Snape recently, and she had been grateful. Right now, she just wanted to let things unfurl as they happened, without mulling over and analysing everything. At least he didn't appear put out at his best friend's burgeoning relationship with his one-time nemesis though. Unlike Ron, for whom it had come as slightly more of a shock and he had reacted angrily, telling her alternately that she was both an idiot, and simultaneously far too good for the dour professor. She'd let him rant for a bit - hot-headedness came naturally to his family, and she thought it best to let him get it out of his system. Although she loved him dearly, his opinion wouldn't sway her on matters of the heart. She had a sneaking suspicion that he might have started to harbour some feelings of his own towards her at some point over the last few years, and she wasn't going to say anything unkind to him, in the hopes that he'd work through his upset and their friendship might emerge intact out the other side.

So Hermione was free to spend her time with Severus, who was looking remarkably well for a dead man, albeit he still held onto her arm occasionally as they strolled, though she had the feeling that was more out of gallantry and affection, rather than physical dependence. She looked up at him, taking in every strand of dark hair, every line on his face, every breath. He was lying back in the boat with his eyes closed, and she thought he was beautiful. Perhaps not in the classical sense, but he had a certain sort of regal look about him. He was in his usual black tunic again, and didn't ask her to help him dress these days, much to her relief. Not because she didn't like the thought of seeing him in a state of partial nudity, but because she was uncertain whether she'd be able to restrain himself from... how should she put it delicately, 'taking advantage of him', and wasn't sure how he would react to her instigation of any furthering in their relationship. She jumped as he spoke suddenly, his eyes still closed.

"I suppose we should get back. Minerva wants to go through a few thing with me in the lead-up to the start of term."

He had indeed been given his old job back - as Potions master. Hermione wasn't sure if he'd even asked for Defence Against the Dark Arts, or whether he would have been given it if he had, although surely his actions had proven he was no longer tempted by their allure, and the position was no longer jinxed. The new headmistress had given him quite the piercing look when he had come clean to her about his and Hermione's affair, although there was very little she could do about it as Granger was almost nineteen years of age now, and therefore at perfect liberty to kiss whomever she liked.

All the same, he'd assured McGonagall that it would not affect his behaviour towards Hermione on a professional level and so, with what might have been a startled and mildly disapproving sniff, he had been told to behave himself, and that she wished them well.


	24. The Embrace

**A/N: Bit of a monster chapter this one, compared to the rest! There be sexiness ahead. It may be a teensy bit fluffy, but meh. Hope you all enjoy ;)**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Embrace**

Hermione had been disappointed, but not surprised, that neither of the boys had opted to return to Hogwarts for another year to study for NEWTs. The Ministry had offered them both unconditional employment offers from the Auror Department anyway, given the enormous amount of practical experience they had gained during their 'gap year'. She had decided to continue with her own studies, both for some independent validation of her abilities, and also as a way to ensure she could spend more time with Severus. If anything might help her adjust back to normal life again, it would be a tedious routine of lessons and books and homework.

He had been annoyingly tight-lipped about the upcoming Potions syllabus for her final year; if she had thought their budding romance meant he might favour her in some way, she was mistaken. At least McGonagall didn't have to worry about any sort of unfair advantage afforded her by the professor, she chuckled to herself. In truth, she didn't particularly mind. She'd never struggled academically, even in Potions, where the Gryffindors had always been at a distinct disadvantage under Snape's tutelage.

He had recently been discharged from the infirmary completely, with strict instructions from Madam Pomfrey to take it easy, and to see her _immediately_ should he have any sort of relapse. Stepping back into his dungeon quarters, he was pleased to see that the house-elves had left it exactly as it had been the last time he was there. Hermione had become a frequent visitor, of course, which McGonagall didn't mind, at least during the holidays when there weren't really any students around yet to gossip. They read together, and tried in vain to improve their wizard chess skills, before Hermione had stood up from the board in a huff one day, declared it to be a silly game anyway, and they had decided to stick to something a little less frustrating in future.

During a rousing game of snap one evening, (she was trying to introduce him to the Muggle version, as the exploding cards she had used with Ron and Harry seemed just a little hazardous) she had gotten rather competitive, and slammed her hand down on the pile of cards just as he did the same. Their eyes met across the small table, neither one moving to draw their hand away. She ran her thumb across his rough knuckles, and they'd forgotten all about the game all of a sudden. Snape stood, taking her hand gently in his, and stepping around the table to pull her towards him and into an embrace.

"Did you slip Amortentia into my tea?" he murmured into her ear, in between kisses.

Hermione laughed, but her insides flipped over. Did he mean-? Was he trying to say-? Or maybe it was just the first thing that had come to mind, what with being a Potions teacher and everything. She shouldn't read too much into it. She settled for another snog instead, pushing him across the room in response, and down onto the couch where they continued kissing and fumbling at each other in earnest.

Snape thought he rather enjoyed this new, uninhibited version of Hermione Granger. Who knew that such a passionate nature had lurked beneath her staid, serious exterior? Mind you, the same might be said about him, he supposed.

Glad that he had recovered from his wounds enough that he was capable of rolling about with her without causing himself too much discomfort, he pulled her on top of him and wrapped his arms around her back, crushing her to his chest. Even if he'd been in agony though, he probably would have still done it: some costs were made to be borne. Briefly releasing his grip to resurface and flick some rogue hair out of his eyes, Hermione took advantage of the increased space between them to start fiddling with his frock coat.

"So... many... bloody... buttons!" she puffed, working her way down the front laboriously. "Why do you even _need_ a coat on in this weather anyway?!"

He snorted in amusement and started to help her, covering her fingers with his own practiced ones, and making short work of the rest of the fastenings. She parted the jacket and ran her hands underneath, over his shirt and caressing his chest.

"I'll have you know, it gets very cold in the dungeons..." But it wasn't the chill air sending a shiver down his spine just now. She started to untie his black cravat, releasing that as well and casting it onto the floor beside them. "_Careless_..." he crooned into her ear mockingly, as she bent back down for another kiss. As she sat up, he batted her hands away from his shirt collar, and instead grasped the bottom of her thin cardigan with both hands. No fumbling with buttons for him: he pulled the top up and over her head, releasing a spill of messy curls as he removed it. "Merlin's beard, you're beautiful." She blushed at his words. "I mean it... You are a completely gorgeous creature Hermione. I don't know what in Merlin's name possesses you to want to be with a tired old man like me, but I'm not for one moment going to complain about it..." He reached up to take a gentle hold of her chin in his hand, thumb resting lightly on her bottom lip. She blushed still more under his intense gaze, and smiled coquettishly at him.

"Don't be daft Severus, you silly sod! There's no-one else I'd rather spend my time with, and - well - do _this_ with," she cast her eyes suggestively down at where she was sitting on his lap. "What can I say - there's just something about you that bewitches the mind, and ensnares the senses(!)"

"Cheeky witch," he retorted, eyebrows raised in mock-affront at recognising his own words, "You should have more respect for your elders!" With that, he grabbed her wrists and, rolling, wrestled her down onto the couch so that she was now lying alongside him. Tenderly caressing her face and brushing away a couple of stray locks - the pair of them had equally rebellious hair that always managed to get in the way - he kissed the bridge of her nose and rested his forehead against hers.

She could feel his warm breath on her face. It made her heart beat faster and set every nerve in her body aflame. Her own breath hitched in her throat as they lay there in silence, with only the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the thumping of her own blood pulsing in her ears.

"I have so much respect for you," she replied tenderly. "More than respect... You're remarkable."

"You're too kind, my dear, as usual. But I'm not a nice man, Hermione," he muttered. "Not a good man. I've done many terrible things. Dark things... You could do so much better than someone like me, you know." She regarded him crossly.

"Oh yes, I forgot - you spent the best part of _twenty years_ spying and lying - simultaneously feigning allegiance to the two most _powerful_ wizards in the world... All for your own benefit, I suppose? You are truly heartless...(!)" Pressing careful kisses along his jaw and down his neck, avoiding the snakebite marks which were still prominent and angry, she giggled as she heard him sigh deeply in enjoyment of her attentions. "I want _you_. So, tough - you're stuck with me."

"Gryffindors - so un_commonly_ stubborn. But if you're sure..."

It was his turn to kiss her neck now, and Hermione shivered in delight as she threw her head back to better allow him access. His hands moved to the small of her back and pulled her hips into his. She gyrated tentatively up against him, and felt him reciprocate. They'd been mucking around like horny teenagers for a while now; plenty of kissing and petting, but they'd yet to take their relationship all the way to the bedroom, as it were. Something had always cropped up to distract or otherwise hamper them before they'd gotten that far. A part of her was also scared to even think about instigating that with him, while the rest practically screamed at her to get on with it and take charge if he wouldn't. She was _almost_ certain he wouldn't reject her advances if she did.

Testing the waters, as he kissed her again, she slipped her hand down beside them and reached out to touch him through his trousers. With his tongue still exploring her mouth wantonly, she felt him inhale sharply mid-kiss. She pressed her hand to him more firmly and he groaned into her mouth in pleasure. In response, he brought his own hands up to undo her blouse and started to run his hands over the smooth skin beneath. They roamed over her breasts and up her back; never staying in one place for long, as if he wanted to commit every inch of her to memory. She shrugged out of her top awkwardly and made a start on his own shirt buttons. He still had his frock coat on too, although it was now falling loosely from his shoulders, and when she was done he shucked both off together, laying back down to press his warm body against hers. Fortunately the dungeons weren't too chilly during the summer, although he thought they might not be so hasty to disrobe there in the middle of the harsh Scottish winter. Gryffindor Tower probably got plenty of sun though...

"Are you sure I _didn't_ die in the shack? Because this feels like heaven to me..."

"Severus Snape - a closet romantic(!)" She reached around and squeezed his arse, receiving a raised eyebrow in return - whether at her comment or her actions, she was unsure.

"Let's just say I'm making up for lost time... Besides, we'll both be rather busy once term starts I should think. Who knows if we'll be able to spend much time in each other's company when September comes? Unless you want to come and help me grade Potions essays of course? Actually, you probably _would_ want to..." He chuckled at her, tapping Hermione lightly on the nose with a finger. "Ever the insufferable know-it-all."

In response to his teasing, Hermione merely trailed lazy kisses down his jaw and neck.

"Oh, I'm insufferable, am I? This must be insufferable for you too then? I suppose I'd better stop...?" She paused tantalisingly, her mouth just below his ear. Two could play that game - he couldn't wind her up now like he'd used to. Not anymore.

"Ah. Well... Perhaps not _everything_ is- I might be able to put up with..." She'd started up her ministrations again, working her way down his neck and over his bare shoulders.

"_Perhaps_ you could put up with me? How very noble of you." She giggled lightly.

"Don't. Laugh. At me." He glared at her, not-all-that-terrifyingly. "Come here."

Wrapping both arms around her, Snape pulled Hermione tight to him again and wrapped a long leg over the top of hers, twisting on the sofa to end up above her, looking down at her and thinking how truly beautiful she was with her hazel frizz splayed out under her in a messy halo. Emerging from another passionate embrace, he looked rather satisfied with himself.

"There. I bet Mister Weasley never kissed you like that-"

"_Ron_?!" She looked at him, genuinely amazed and confused, and slightly peeved. "Why on _Earth_ does everyone always think me and Ron were an item? I mean sure, Harry told me that he might have had a bit of a crush on me at one point, but-"

"Oh." The wind taken out of his sails slightly. "I assumed-"

"For heaven's sake! Just because a witch spends months camping in the forest with her friends who _happen_ to be wizards, does _not_ mean she has to sleep with them - honestly! I thought you would be above making that sort of hasty judgment about others' behaviour, of all people!"

"Forgive me, perhaps I might make it up to you? Another kiss?" He glanced at her, his dark eyes roguish. She rolled her own at him, then met his lips with hers. There was just something _intoxicating_ about him that made it so very hard for her to keep her hands off him for long, even when he was being a colossal prat sometimes.

"And, ah... by the way..." He seemed a little cautious about whatever it was he was about to say, "What _does_ mean that a witch might want to sleep with a wizard?" His face was completely deadpan - she wasn't sure if he was protecting himself from possible rejection, or if he was teasing her again. Playing him at his own game if he were, she grinned, and looked as if she were thinking hard.

"Um, well... I think one of the _first_ signs is when she sets his robes on fire. That's a dead giveaway." She was furiously suppressing the desire to burst out laughing, he could tell, "You wouldn't have had any witches try and do anything as outrageous as that to you though, I'm sure Professor Snape - not with your fearsome reputation!"

It was becoming rather apparent to Hermione, with Severus lying on top of her, that he was displaying one or two signs of his own that he might quite like to sleep with a witch at some point in the very near future. Noticing this only increased her desire for him, and she drew her knees up either side of his legs rather suggestively so that he was nestled between them. His long hair - she would have to remember to ask him if she could give it a trim, unless Harry warned him in advance about his own disastrous experience at the end of Hermione's scissors - hung over his face and fell onto her bare chest. He'd made no reply to her joke, other than to start kissing just below her collarbone.

"Mmm..." she moaned softly.

"You like that?" His voice was equally low, his lips barely moving as he spoke. She felt him brace himself with his arms over her and start to rock backward and forwards, rubbing his groin against her jeans; they were both starting to breathe heavily with lust. "How about this?"

She let out a gasp of delight at the friction between them. He still had his trousers on as well, but she was so aroused, so ready for him, that the slightest touch sent thrills through her body.

About to complain as he suddenly sat up and the weight of him disappeared, she realised he had shifted further down the couch and was undoing the button on her jeans. Pulling at the legs, he peeled them down her milky skin and off over her feet. Taking a moment to sit back and look at her, reclining before him in just her lingerie, he almost pinched himself. Deciding that even if it were a dream, it was a bloody good one and he would be happy to let it play out, he fumbled abnormally clumsily at his own trousers. She was right about one thing: he did wear entirely too many buttons! Kicking off his dragon-hide boots and finally stepping out of his trousers, he climbed back onto the seat and lay gently over her again. He hadn't missed her sneaky glance in the direction of his own underwear.

He'd long ago learned his lesson when it came to wearing tatty pants, and thankfully although the wizarding community had kept a stubborn refusal to follow Muggle fashion when it came to outerwear, they had at least moved with the times regarding underwear and he'd wisely opted for a plain black pair of boxer briefs that morning. They were normally fairly loose-fitting, but had been getting progressively tighter on him since the point where she'd touched his hand during their abandoned game of non-exploding Snap a short while ago.

"Hermione," he murmured softly, "Should we... perhaps-? Would you like to take this to the bedroom...?" He was still moving against her, and she had to concentrate supremely hard on even hearing what he was saying.

"No, I don't think so," she replied, gazing up at him. His eyes narrowed slightly, and just before he started to look disappointed at her response, she continued, "I think I want you to fuck me right here on the couch."  
His eyes widened at her unexpected bluntness but he said nothing, only redoubling his attentions to her neck with his lips. Shifting slightly to one side, he reached between them and ran a long finger under the band of her knickers. She jerked slightly under his touch, so sensitive was her skin. Snape pressed a long, hard kiss to her lips and she responded fiercely, tasting him desperately on her tongue. She could feel him smiling through the kiss, and then felt his hand wander below her waistband, beneath the thin fabric of her underwear. He knew when he'd found the right spot as her whole body twitched and she ground herself against him involuntarily. He smirked. He'd never realised until now what he'd been missing: to be this intimate with somebody, to affect them in such a way. It was one thing to read thoughts, or alter minds and bodies with potions, but this was so very... human. It had taken death, or nearly, for him to let his guard down enough to be open to such a thing, but he vowed to make the most of every day from now on.

Lying beneath Severus, able to think of nothing but the way he was touching her, Hermione struggled to the realisation that he would probably appreciate a little reciprocal attention at some point. Bumping her hand on his arm as she snaked her way towards his groin, she gasped in pleasure at his ministrations, just as she touched him and he did the same. With her free hand she swept the hair from his forehead affectionately, and saw those dark eyes close as she started to rub him through the fabric of his underwear.

"Merlin's beard..." Not very original he knew, but all he could manage at the moment, and it conveyed his sentiments appropriately. An old memory came to mind at random. "Merlin... I wish I'd gotten drunk at that Christmas party of Slughorn's and snuck off out the back somewhere with you. Draco was perfectly capable of sorting his own problems out, I'm sure... You looked ravishing in that dress - it turned my stomach to see McLaggen pawing all over you like that. You do look incredibly sexy after being kissed though, I can vouch for that."

She giggled affectionately. "Did you _really_ fancy me then? I seem to recall you leaving me high and dry - you're not the 'treat them mean, keep them keen' sort are you?" She poked him in the shoulder accusingly, a wide smile still on her face.

Not used to being on the other end of a sarcastic question, Snape pursed his lips.

"I think not. I believe I'm more of the 'treat them mean, treat them mean' sort(!) At least that's what I hear from the student body. As I'm sure you are no doubt well-aware, I am less than popular with them, even more so following my year as Headmaster.

"Well_, this_ student body finds you quite desirable..." She winked at him and deftly slipped her hand down into his pants, taking hold of his cock and starting to stroke him firmly up and down. He let out a low exclamation and braced his feet against the arm of the sofa, willing himself not to thrust into her fist, lest things be over even sooner than they undoubtedly would be anyway. Yet another disadvantage of spending years devoid of physical intimacy!

Hermione ran her hand over his length, swirling a thumb over the tip occasionally and running back down and over his balls every so often. She could tell he was restraining himself. Ever the gent. She didn't want restraint right now though - they'd spent too long restraining themselves, and there would be time for that later.

"Fuck me, Severus," she told him. He gave her one lingering look, then she felt him pushing down her pants to her knees. Shuffling about under him to kick them off completely, she fumbled behind her back to undo her bra while he dotted hot kisses across her chest and stomach, simultaneously removing his own underwear. As she clonked the back of her head on the rather solid arm of the chair, she told herself she'd probably regret not taking him up on his offer of moving to the bedroom, but right now she really didn't care. She caught just a glimpse of him now completely disrobed, before he was lying back down over her again, his pale skin still surprisingly warm against hers.

Hermione could feel the head of his cock rubbing against her as he rocked backwards and forwards gently, teasing her with the sensation. She nibbled more or less gently at his ear.

"Go on."

She ran her fingers over his back, as if she could somehow pull him closer than they already were. She desperately wanted him inside her, to get as close to him as was physically possible, and then more. He'd slowed his breathing, obviously composing himself for the main event. Always striving for control - she'd have to convince him it was okay to let himself go every now and then and follow his instincts. A little rich, coming from her with her infamous strait-laced character, she knew, but at least she'd had a more-or-less normal childhood in which she'd been able to explore her burgeoning teenage sexuality and get in a bit of practice. And she had no doubt that, despite Severus's comparative inexperience, her other encounters would measure up merely as practice compared to being with him. She could already tell that he was a far more conscientious partner than anyone she'd been with before. Her heart broke that he'd been denied the same opportunities as her in his youth, then soared as she thought it meant that he was all hers to experience and experiment with.

At that point Snape stopped breathing entirely, and she opened her eyes which had been closed in bliss up to that point, as she became concerned. Perhaps he wasn't yet fully recovered enough for them to be exerting themselves like this? A fraction of a second later though, she felt him enter her, and her own breath nearly stopped as he slid slowly in. It was every bit as exciting and satisfying as she'd hoped. Running her fingers through his hair, she kissed his face as he started to move, hesitantly at first.

"It's okay. You can relax. Please."

"I-... I don't want to hurt you. And-" He might have flushed a little. "I don't want to... rush things..."

She smiled at him adoringly.

"Please, Severus. I don't mind if we don't go for hours. Well- not this time anyway!" she giggled again. "You feel so good. I just want you. Please?"

Wrapping her legs up and around his, he responded by thrusting harder into her, making her gasp.

"Ohhhhh, Hermione," he groaned into her ear, "Merlin's beard, that's... You're amazing..."

Severus desperately wanted to use Legilimency on her, to ensure that she was feeling just as good as him, but he stopped himself out of respect for her, and reluctance to do anything to ruin the moment, or potentially and more importantly, all their future moments. He was surprised when she reached up to place a soft hand on either side of his face and locked eyes with him wordlessly. Her meaning was unmistakable: she was well-versed in the intricacies of Legilimency and Occlumency. Anything she hadn't either picked up from Harry or learned from her own reading, he had revealed to her himself, glad to have someone with whom to share an intellectual discussion or two. For a man who more or less lived in a school, such opportunities came along surprisingly infrequently!

Stilling himself just for a second, he met her gaze, nodding ever so slightly to her in acknowledgement. Then as he started to thrust into her again, not only did he experience his own sensations, but he could feel her own ecstasy as well. It was almost too much. She was beyond aroused, and the way she was looking at him... He could feel her... love? She felt _love_ for him. No mistake - the depths of her feelings went deeper than any fling, any infatuation. He almost stopped right there, so alien it seemed to him. He didn't know - had never known - how to respond to something like that. He was scared to act, and yet scared of inaction at the same time.

Luckily for him, Hermione was possessed of more than just academic intelligence, and had intuited what he would see, and how it might make him feel.

"You're special, Severus. I keep telling you..." She kissed him on the lips and he reciprocated, albeit rather mechanically out of a sheer instinctive reaction. His eyes seemed suddenly blank, although he was still staring at her. He was still moving in and out of her, slower than before, but again that seemed to be a purely mechanical action on his part as well.

"Severus..." she whispered to him, "You're extraordinary. I love you."

Suddenly it was like a fog had cleared; his eyes refocused and his movements became less reflexive. He bent his head low to kiss her passionately, working his way down her sensitive neck again as she shivered and tensed under his touch. His own body started to tense and strain, as the sensation of her around him started to build.

"I-... Hermione, I-..." She was bucking to meet him hard with his every thrust; she knew he was close. The emotion he felt for her, as she selflessly gave herself to him for no reason other than her inherent goodness, and the fact that she saw even a hint of the same goodness within him...

"Merlin, I love you Hermione-" he trailed off in a wordless cry as he came, thrusting deep into her two, three, four times, before collapsing on the couch on top of her.

They lay there for a few minutes, panting and smiling stupidly at each other, their bodies slick with sweat. Hermione felt a profound sense of loss as he finally withdrew from her, summoning his last bit of energy to roll into the back of the sofa, leg still wrapped around hers.

"Well that was worth waiting for," she grinned at him. "Even for two years!"

He chuckled deeply at her. "Likewise. You're quite the temptress, Miss Granger. I am surprised you didn't take the opportunity to seduce me in that tent in the forest last year. I'm ashamed to say I doubt very much whether I would have resisted, even then. Tergeo." He'd picked up a wand - her wand, she noticed - from amongst the pile of clothes on the floor.

"Vinewood? Unusual... As remarkable as its owner. You really shouldn't keep it in your back pocket though, you know," he murmured affectionately, handing it back to her. "Better witches than you have lost buttocks..."

Cleaning them both up, they lay there on the sofa together for a short while before the chill of the dungeons became too much, even for Severus. Redressing, he'd strongly hinted Hermione shouldn't bother with her bra before putting her blouse back on, which had earned him a playful smack on the arm. When they were both done, she looked at the floor to see his cravat still lying there with the frock coat, and also his underpants. Raising an eyebrow at _him_ for once, she gave him a slightly suggestive, questioning look.

"Just in case we decide to have another round later," he said casually, returning her suggestive expression, "Time-saving, and all that..."

He went to sit in the leather wingback chair in the corner where he normally read in the evenings, and scooped her into his lap.

"You're a wicked man, Severus Snape!" She snuggled into his chest, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his jaw."

"Guilty. You finally noticed(!) Shall I expect you to start running and screaming from my quarters?"

"Not bloody likely! Not after that shag," she chuckled at him. "In fact, I'll be here every day if that's what happens when I'm here!"

"Yes, well, I wouldn't count on it _every_ time, you know." He sounded mildly worried. "I'm an old man - I'd hate for you to have saved me from Nagini, only to finish me off with death by sex(!)" She swatted him on the arm again.

"Don't be ridiculous, you dimwit - you've got at least another hundred and sixty years in you, I reckon!" She laughed again, and he couldn't help but laugh with her. A hundred and sixty years! That would be quite some life. And if he were to spend it with her... Well, they'd definitely be in need of a few more bookshelves, that was for certain! And maybe a more comfortable bed... Perhaps he wouldn't spend _all_ of it teaching at Hogwarts. He had heard rumours that he was to be included on the ever more lengthy roll of names of people whom the Ministry of Magic had shortlisted for an Order of Merlin, First Class (bloody finally!).

Snape realised it was the first time in a long time that he'd thought about the future in that sort of nebulous, distant way. It was all unwritten. Previously, it had been a life of flitting from Death Eater meeting to Order of the Phoenix meeting, from one key part of some diabolical plan to another; never imagining what lay ahead once it was all done. True, he had almost certainly expected to perish at some point in the fight to defeat the Dark Lord, at the hand of either side, but still... He'd never even given a thought to what his life might entail upon emerging the other side of the war. It was almost all he'd known - recruited straight out of school, then recruited back _into_ the school on the opposing team.

He knew Horace Slughorn had set up his own apothecary when he hadn't been teaching, but that seemed so mundane. At least at Hogwarts there was an ever-present threat of something dramatic happening; he had a purpose and a role to play here. Although the Ministry had forgiven him his sins it seemed, he wasn't overjoyed at the thought of going begging to them for employment either, and a life as an Auror - potentially working alongside Potter, as Hermione had mentioned that the boy had started his training - just didn't quite appeal somehow either. No. Best just to plod on for a bit as he was, and see what happened.

Noticing him looking contemplative, Hermione presumed she'd said something wrong.

"Oh don't worry, you don't have to spend a hundred and sixty years with _me_ if you don't want to. I know I'm annoying..."

"And exasperating."

"And exasperating!" She broke into a grin despite herself, realising that Severus was teasing and probably hadn't been panicked about her hanging around for the next century after all. She made a mental note to take a few practical lessons on Legilimency from him as well as the instruction on theory he'd already imparted to her, just so they might both be on the same page when it came to knowing each other, if he'd let her in. Snape wrapped his arms around her as she sat on his lap, and held her close.

"I was thinking about the future. Perhaps it was merely the thought of the impending classes with first-years, blowing up cauldrons and getting salamander entrails stuck to my ceiling..." He sighed heavily. "Maybe I should ask Sybill what she can 'see' for me."

Hermione snorted loudly. Severus was possibly the only person who had less faith in Professor Trelawney's 'abilities' than she did - prophecies notwithstanding of course.

"She'll only tell you you're going to die horribly, I expect - I wouldn't bother. She'll be gagging for someone to predict certain doom for, now Harry's gone." she retorted at him, brightly.

"You're probably right, as usual," He looked down his nose at her and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile. "Especially when she finds out about _us_, I expect. You were not exactly her star student in your third year, if I remember rightly? I still haven't forgotten the way you glared at her for weeks in the Great Hall at dinners after dropping her classes. Septima and I had quite a chuckle at both of your expenses I'm afraid. No doubt Sybill would be _overjoyed_ to inform you of your boyfriend's impending grisly demise..."

"_Boyfriend_?! No offense Severus - I have no objection to us going public, as you well know - but I can't let you go around calling yourself my '_boyfriend'_!"

"Oh?" He looked confused, and a tad dejected. It had taken a lot for him to steel himself and use such a regular word to describe the relationship they had developed of late.

"I mean, well... It's hardly befitting of someone of your... demeanour, is it? Someone's '_boyfriend'_?!"

"Ah! You mean my age...? You think a 'boyfriend' should be some spotty-faced teen with a weekend job in Florean Fortescue's?" Hermione blushed.

"Well I didn't mean it quite like _that_-!" She counted herself lucky that he was no longer inclined to deduct house points from her upon being insulted. "It's just... you're so very-..."

"Old?" He was having fun now, she could tell. That raised eyebrow was rather sexy though.

"Not _old_! For Godric's sake, Severus! I just meant you're very proper, and serious, and - yes - slightly more mature than the other wizards I've been out with before. Lots of people, Muggles and wizards alike, have very successful relationships with an age-gap the same or greater than ours - it doesn't mean anything. But I _cannot_ use the word 'boyfriend' to describe you to people, I'm sorry!" She was almost laughing now. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Severus mulled it over.

"So... What would you prefer? 'Partner'? Too boring... 'Beau'? Too ironic... 'Suitor'? Too old-fashioned, even for me. 'Admirer'... well, that's _certainly_ true..." He pinched her bum down the back of the chair where she couldn't see his hands.

"Oi! Behave yourself, I'm trying to be serious with you for once!"

"As am I. How about 'lover'...?" He kissed her neck suggestively, nose pointed in the direction of her cleavage. She swatted him away playfully.

"_Severus_...!"

"Significant other?" She sat up slightly.

"That's... I like that! 'Significant'. That has a nice ring to it. It's certainly sums up how I see you much better than '_boyfriend'_!" She pulled a face that he could hear but not see. "Are you _sure_ Professor McGonagall is okay with us being together? I'd hate for you to get into any trouble."

"Quite sure. _Accio Firewhisky_. Sweet of you to be worried for me, although I admit Minerva is a far more formidable opponent than the Dark Lord when enraged..." He chuckled, whether at her or the Headmistress, she wasn't sure.

A glass tumbler and a half-full bottle of rich amber liquid zoomed across from another shadowy corner of the room and onto the small table by the chair they were ensconced in. The bottle poured a generous measure or two into the glass, then settled back down onto the table with a soft 'plink'. Snape picked up the tumbler and drained it in one, placing it back down when empty. He tipped Hermione's chin up towards him with a gentle index finger and kissed her softly. She sighed happily, licking her lips at the combined taste of him and the alcohol, and rested her head back on his shoulder.

"I suppose I should really start reading through my textbooks again before lessons start - Professor Flitwick's assigned us _four_ this year, although I've already read two of them when I was doing a bit of extra work for my OWLs of course, but..."

Snape smiled into her hair, tired from their earlier exertions, and relaxed by his fiery drink. She wasn't nearly quite so insufferable as she used to be, he admitted. Or perhaps he'd just learned to suffer her? Either way... Warmed by her body heat and the whisky, he felt himself drifting off...

Hermione felt Severus relax beneath her slightly while she was talking - about everything and nothing - as she mentally prepared herself for the forthcoming school year. Stopping to listen, she could hear his breathing, light and regular. He'd fallen asleep. Feeling a completely irrational flood of adoration for him wash over her, she very carefully removed herself from his lap without waking him. She went to the couch and picked up the rest of his discarded clothes, folding his cravat and frock coat before putting them over the back of the seat neatly. She placed his pants on the top of the pile, grinning to herself. She was sure they would manage a 'repeat' of their earlier tryst at some point, even if not today.

Taking his woollen cloak off the hook on the wall, she laid it over him, pulling it up just below his chin, before sending the Firewhisky back to its cupboard and closing the door to his quarters softly behind her, securing it with a Locking Charm so he wouldn't be disturbed.

* * *

**A/N: So I didn't want to make a huge deal about Virgin!Snape (at least not in this fic), and I can't imagine he'd be totally clueless at nearly 40 years of age even without an opportunity or inclination for practical experience - he can read, after all! I can see why people like to write him as having a bit of experience under his belt, for narrative and aesthetic reasons, but I can never quite get into stories where out of nowhere he's some BDSM expert who owns a swingers club in London LOL! Poor Severus is clearly a guy with some issues around his self-worth, given his childhood and most of the rest of his life, and Hermione's quite a mature character with a HUGE capacity for caring for others, but is also emotionally vulnerable at times as well. They're not quite so well-established in their relationship that they're 100% secure and relaxed about it, but they're trying, given their respective baggage! 3**

**Let me know what you think, I'll promise not to cry ;)**


	25. Hello, My Treacherous Friends

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Hello, My Treacherous Friends**

She'd met up with Harry and Ron for Harry's birthday, and they'd gone together to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. Harry had politely dealt with the steady stream of witches and wizards who had approached with messages of thanks and well-wishing. He told them it reminded him of the first time he'd come there with Hagrid.

"How is he?" he asked Hermione.

"Hagrid? I've not seen him much recently, he's been away visiting Grawp in the mountains for a while. He seemed okay last time I saw him - the hut needed a bit of rebuilding, but apart from that, he and Fang wander around the grounds as normal, tending to all the beasts. He's a bit put out with the centaurs still though I think, but I'm sure he'll come round. Firenze is still talking to him at least.

"How's Auror training going?" she asked the pair.

Harry's face broke into an enormous smile as he suddenly began a long rendition of every fascinating thing he'd seen and learned since starting with the Ministry. Ron chipped in every now and then, but Hermione got the feeling he wasn't quite as enamoured with his career choice as Harry. Never mind - she was sure George would need a hand at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes if what she heard from Ginny was accurate. People had needed cheering up enormously after the war, and business was picking up fast.

After about three or four rounds of drinks, the Leaky wasn't looking like quite so much of a dive, and Hermione was chatting away animatedly about all the work they'd done on the castle, and how much she was looking forward to taking her NEWTs.

"You really should come and visit some time, you know? Both of you. I bet Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind you popping by for a bit, for old time's sake. She'd be pleased to see you too, I'm sure."

"It's not McGonagall we're worried about," muttered Ron, darkly.

"Uh, sure, we might be able to do that," interjected Harry, glancing between his two friends, concerned that something might be about to flare up.

"How's Snape?" blurted Ron. Harry ran his hand despairingly through his already messy hair - the thing he had been worried about clearly having happened.

"He's good, thanks," Hermione replied, uncertainly.

"Great... great," he mumbled.

"I expect you'll see him anyway, when the Ministry award the Orders of Merlin. I presume there's going to be some sort of ceremony in London. He's well enough to travel, so I expect we'll come down and stay somewhere for the evening."

"Together?" blurted Ron again.

"Um... maybe..." Hermione was suddenly shy. She didn't care who knew about the details of her and Severus's relationship at the school, where Snape still possessed a fearsome enough reputation to fend off any snide remarks, however when it came to her two closest male friends, she was a little awkward when it came to divulging anything concrete.

"You are seeing each other then? Like, properly?" Ron's face was starting to turn pink, but wasn't quite the colour of his hair yet.

"Yes Ronald, we are," she shot back, a little too snappily.

"Brilliant... Do you mind me asking what in the name of Merlin's pants you like about him?!" There it was. He'd finally gone far enough to stop dancing around the issue. She sighed, steeling herself.

"Not that it's any of anyone's business, but I find him completely fascinating. I imagine most people do! I heard Rita Skeeter's trying to write a book about him, documenting everything he did for the Order, and his motivations throughout the wars." She glossed over the fact in her mind, that Snape's presiding motivation for most of his undercover activities for Dumbledore had been Lily Potter. They all knew that, and she had gotten over any ridiculous notion of jealousy she might have had about it.

"_Fascinating_?! 'Mione, you find the Goblin Wars fascinating; you find house-elves fascinating! I just don't think that that's a good enough reason to-"

"'To' what?! You think I'm just studying him so I can write five feet of parchment about the life of Severus Snape?!" She was talking a little too loudly now and Harry cast a furtive glance around the pub, although they were in a quiet corner, and the people closest were either unable to hear, or were too polite to show they were eavesdropping on the trio. "I happen to love him!"

She had, of course, admitted as much to the object of her affections, and he had reciprocated, but she suddenly felt very vulnerable saying it to others, in public no less.

"You-..." Ron spluttered into his pint of Dragon Scale lager, "You _what_?!"

"Yes Ronald, I love Severus. What's so hard to imagine about that?" Her hands were on her hips, and Harry was looking back and forth between the pair, searching for an opportunity to jump in and try to defuse things.

"Oh, well, no - I'm sure he's _fabulous_ company(!)" snarled Ron, rather bitterly. "What in Merlin's name would you do without having someone around to insult your teeth every morning, and tell you you're a show-off?! Bet you're dying to take him back home to your mum and dad..."

"_Ronald Bilius Weasley_!" she shrieked, but under her breath, noticing a couple of people at a nearby table start to shoot furtive glances in their direction, "I'll have you know, he's a changed man. And we never even got to see most of his real personality at school anyway!"

"Yeah, I wonder why?(!) Maybe because he was the old bloke stood at the _front_ of the class, handing out homework assignments and giving us all 'T's, while we were sat copying his scrawl off the blackboard!" he hissed.

"Ron, what exactly is your issue with him? Harry told you all about his memories from the Pensieve - the Ministry's pardoned him on that evidence alone. Professor McGonagall's given him his job back. Honestly, he's like a different man now he's not being forced into a life of espionage by Dumbledore! I'm not saying he's all sunshine and daisies, but he's not the monster everyone seemed to think he was either. We have a lot in common, intellectually speaking. I guess that's what I find most interesting about him."

Faced with the ream of evidence of Snape's supposed reformation, Ron deflated slightly. He snorted.

"I heard the kids nicknamed him 'Swooping Evil' last year, back when he was Headmaster." He nudged Harry in the ribs conspiratorially, trying to encourage his friend to laugh along.

Harry managed a weak grin, while his eyes shot apologetically over in Hermione's direction. She gave him a nod of acceptance. It really didn't matter what Ron's opinion of Snape was, to be honest, or of her relationship with him. But she would try and keep things cordial between them, so long as Ron made an effort to be nice.

"Just as long as you're not... you know? As long as he's not making you..."

"_'Making me_'?! 'Making me' _what_, Ron?" Really, he was going to go too far in a minute.

"You know... like, gross stuff..." He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Hermione let out a sudden burst of laughter.

"Ha! Oh Ron, we're all adults now - do stop being awkward about it. If you think it's gross to sleep with Professor Snape, then by all means, you're perfectly entitled not to! I however, am also entitled to make my own mind up... _without_ interference from anyone else." She wasn't going to bait him by informing him of their recent physical romantic development, but nor would she allow him to continue to bludgeon her with his baseless opinions.

"I-..." That seemed to have done the trick - Ron was momentarily speechless. Seeing an opening, Harry suddenly piped up.

"So, did anyone catch the Quidditch the other day?"

Taking the hint, Hermione feigned ignorance - she knew it had been a big match between the Holyhead Harpies and somebody or other - and allowed Harry to explain in detail all the happenings of the match. Ron fumed silently at his friend's side for a bit, before getting irresistibly drawn into a discussion about a particularly controversial penalty where the Harpies' Keeper had been fouled by both the opposing Beaters and had ended up stuffed through one of the goal hoops, backwards and without her broom.

They had stayed in the Leaky for another three quarters of an hour or so before she had made her excuses about having to pop into Madam Malkin's before she closed, to pick up her new school robes. Now well over a year old, her previous ones were no longer the right size. She'd given them to Ginny as a spare set, as Ron's sister was a little slighter than she was, and a year younger. Severus had _innocently_ suggested that she merely wear them open - possibly with nothing on underneath - and keep them for the bedroom, but Hermione had glared at him. He simply wasn't taking this very seriously, the fact that they had to appear professional in front of other people. She hoped for his sake that when term finally started, that he would snap back into Professor Mode, and be a paragon of dour sensibleness again. She _had_ laughed though - she had been right: he was indeed a very funny man, when the circumstance called for it.

She'd popped into George's shop while she was in Diagon Alley, and Ron's brother had greeted her with a warm hug and told her to take whatever she wanted. Eyeing up a half-full barrel of 'Edible Dark Marks', she winced slightly. She wasn't sure what Severus would make of those if she brought a bag home. His own Mark seemed to have faded substantially since Voldemort's death, and she hoped for his sake that it would one day disappear completely, although she highly doubted it given its Dark nature, and the unerring durability of Protean Charms.

She always let him know in no uncertain terms that she loved that part of him just as much as any other, and would trail kisses down his arms to his fingertips, across the faint brand. She smiled at the Weasleys' Love Potions, still in pride of place in the middle of the shop; their sickly pink display comedically over the top. Still, there were a couple of young witches looking at them while Hermione was in there, and she thought back to her and Ginny, tittering over the bottles themselves, back in the days when such things had amused them. Back when she thought she would have needed a Love Potion to get a wizard interested in her, she mused.

Picking up a few bits from Slug and Jiggers apothecary, and browsing through Flourish and Blotts before she made her way home, Hermione pined briefly over a new edition of _Hogwarts: A History_. It had a beautiful binding edged with gold, and a moving picture on the front depicting the castle with owls swooping between the spires. Telling herself firmly that her existing copy was perfectly fine, despite several of the pages being patched up with Spellotape (probably due to misuse by Harry and Ron) and the binding starting to look rather tatty and fragile, she dragged herself away from the display. She thought about getting Severus a new copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions _as well, although he almost certainly had more copies than the shabby old one she'd spied in his quarters the other evening. Doubtless he had a more up to date version in his potions lab for reference as well.

Her shopping done, for once Hermione left the bookshop empty-handed and Apparated back to Hogwarts. An extra bed had been created for her in the seventh-year dorms in Gryffindor Tower, due to her joining the existing students who had used to be in the year below her. She was glad she would be sharing a room with Ginny Weasley - at least there would be a familiar face amongst the other girls. At the moment however, she was the dormitory's only occupant.

Just then, she heard a sliding, scraping noise outside, followed by a loud thump, and an equally loud curse. Going cautiously to the door, she opened it and looked down the staircase. Severus was in a heap at the bottom, tangled in his cloak, and muttering furiously to himself.

"Hi!" she said cheerily. He looked indignantly up at her.

"What... is _this_?!" He made a brisk, irritable gesture towards the staircase, which had transformed itself into a slide. Hermione carefully stepped out onto the smooth surface and surfed her way down unsteadily, stepping off at the bottom and bending down to him.

"Oh, the staircase?"

"_Obviously_, the staircase." He cocked an eyebrow at her in exasperation. "I hardly meant this enchanting threadbare rug I'm sat on, did I?"

He rose to his feet stiffly, brushing down his robes and puffing his chest out a bit.

"Am I the only one who reads _Hogwarts: A History_? Honestly!" She let out an incredulous laugh. "It's enchanted. Boys aren't trustworthy, you see - the Founders designed it to prevent them sneaking into the girls' dorms."

"I'm no mere boy!" He seemed mildly put out.

"No, I know. Take it up with Godric Gryffindor though, handsome." She stood on tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Snape's puffed-up demeanour deflated slightly at her touch.

"Right, well... I just came to see if you were back from London. It appears you are."

"Well-spotted! I got you that Bicorn horn you wanted, and a bottle of iguana blood. Slug and Jiggers were sold out of Exploding Fluid, I'm afraid..."

"You're an angel." Snape took her hand rather theatrically and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, making her giggle and blush attractively.

"I'll go and fetch them!" Reluctantly drawing her hand away, she turned and bounced lightly back up the staircase to the dormitory, which had reverted to its usual form. Snape stayed in the common room below, eyeing up the steps with suspicion. In mere moments, the door above was flung open again and Hermione skipped back down the stairs, jumping down the last two and landing in front of him with an over-enthusiastic bounce.

"Here you go!"

He took the jar and bottle from her carefully, stowing them away in an inside pocket of his cloak.

"How was your drink at the Cauldron?"

She knew he was being polite and had little to no interest in how Ron and Harry were doing, but she felt immensely proud of him for making the effort anyway. She'd try not to bore him with details.

"Oh, the boys are good, Harry seems to be enjoying his training at the Ministry. Ron too I guess, but he was a little out of sorts." Understatement perhaps, but never mind.

"Oh?" Snape tilted his head. "What's got Weasley's robes in a bunch?"

She debated how much to tell him.

"Oh you know... just Ron being Ron. I expect work's just stressing him out. And his family as well. I think George has been asking him to help out here and there at the joke shop, so he's been quite busy. And..."

"And...?" He wasn't fobbed off from the real issue for a moment.

"And... I think he's still struggling with the idea of you and me. I'm sure he's gotten over that crush Harry told me about, but he's not the best with change you know, and I think he finds it difficult to think of his friend dating someone they knew as a teacher. And a Death Eater." She cringed inwardly slightly, not wanting to offend him. Luckily, he knew her own feelings about his past, and cared little for the opinions of others.

"Ah. He thinks I'm some sort of evil cradle snatcher, I take it?" His lips twitched in perverse amusement. "Pity I can't deduct house points from him any longer, I'm sure I could have changed his mind about the situation after about two or three hundred..." His black eyes glinted maliciously in the afternoon light.

"Severus, be nice. I'm sure he'll get over it eventually - Harry has!" she added, in a tone that implied that if Harry Potter could come to terms with his best friend stepping out with their shadowy, older, frankly sinister professor, who had seemingly been both a murderer and their constant nemesis, as well as a man who had nurtured hidden feelings for his student's long-dead mother, then anyone could.

"_I'm sure_." he said, in a voice that heavily implied he was not at all sure, but couldn't care less either way. "He didn't try to get you drunk and take a pass at you then?"

"No," she sighed, "Harry interrupted before things got too confrontational. Ron just sort of sulked for a bit. Like I said, he'll get over it. Why did you want to know if I was back yet anyway?"

She moved over to a comfy burgundy two-seater sofa in the middle of the room and sat down, motioning Snape to join her.

"I was wondering if you wanted to pop into Hogsmeade this afternoon, before dinner. Or we could skip dining in the Great Hall altogether and eat at the Hog's Head? Or the Three Broomsticks?" Seeing Hermione's mild unease at the thought of having a meal in Aberforth Dumbledore's establishment, he threw her the second option. "Not Madam Puddifoot's though. You know I care about you very much Hermione, but I still have standards..."

"Oh don't worry, it's not my sort of place either," she reassured him, patting his leg affectionately. "We can't have you ruining your finely-honed air of Slytherin menace, can we? Professor Snape, taking tea from pink china with lacy napkins(!)" She gave a mock shudder, and poked him in the arm playfully.

"Quite."

If he was irritated at her gentle ribbing, he didn't show it. But then, he didn't show much of anything at all, most of the time, although in private he had become a lot better as she'd spent time with him. Whether that was due to his near-death experience, or his new-found ability to relax a bit more into everyday life, she couldn't say. Realising she hadn't given him an answer, she jumped up again.

"That'd be lovely. The Three Broomsticks? I haven't been there for a while, I hope Madam Rosmerta's alright? I think Harry gave evidence for her just after the Battle, after that business with Draco and the necklace? He made sure everyone knew she wasn't helping him of her own accord."

It felt very odd whenever she discussed anything about the Death Eater invasion of the school during their sixth year. Snape had obviously been in the thick of it; had killed Albus Dumbledore, albeit on the Headmaster's own orders, but nevertheless she was worried that it might prove painful for him to be reminded of what must be some of his most difficult memories from recent times. Severus however, had never shied away from talking about those events as and when the occasion arose, and his tone was usually one of somebody reading the following week's weather report from the _Daily Prophet_.

Unflappably neutral, he clearly held to the belief that he had done everything for a reason, and that reason had been a darned good one. She couldn't disagree. Hermione was glad that he hadn't had to go through a trial in front of the Ministry, and would be forever grateful to Harry for not putting the Potions master through that ordeal straight from his sickbed at St Mungo's. She suspected Snape would have rather _not_ had his personal memories and motivations revealed to all and sundry at the Ministry, however she had told him it was for the greater good, and a modicum of embarrassment was a fair trade for a free life, unencumbered by rumours and suspicious glares. Although if Rita Skeeter had her way, people would still be looking at him like a murderer. She'd had it on good authority that the Animagus was planning a tell-all book about Severus, and given her previous hatchet jobs on other Hogwarts Headmasters, she was sure it wouldn't be flattering. Perhaps a little more blackmail would be required, in order to stifle Skeeter's creativity?


	26. For A Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic

**A/N: I confess to being a little surprised and baffled by this, but the fact that a few people have now mentioned it has been bugging me. Irony punctuation seems to have been around for hundreds of years in various forms, although perhaps not in common use. While I appreciate that the "(!)" I use may be a little informal - I commonly see it on film subtitles for example - I feel it's useful as it saves writing '... he said, voice heavy with irony.' etc. all the time. There's even a downloadable trademarked punctuation symbol called the SarcMark although I'm not sure if it's supported on all formats and probably even fewer people would know what it meant, but clearly there is a modern need and desire to denote sarcasm and irony in written work.**

**Enacademic dot com reliably(?) tells me that Karl Marx used "[!]" in his work Das Kapital, so if it's good enough for him...? It's possibly more in your face in this because Snape has a vast majority of the dialogue, and he's the master of sarcasm and it therefore gets used more frequently? Some instances just don't seem to quite lend themselves to italicising words or other methods of stress though. Sorry if you all hate it, but I'm afraid I'm not inclined to go through 30-odd chapters taking all the darned things out lol.**

**In response specifically to my latest anon reviewer - the semi-pro writer, whoever you are - thanks for your praise, I appreciate your feedback. There is a little bit of angst/drama coming up, but not too much. This is after all, a HEA fic, and I have my personal reasons for having the story play out as it is, which I may elaborate on slightly later. As for a marriage law fic, it's not generally a trope I go for as a reader, but having said that I'm currently drafting up another SSHG set post-Hogwarts so you never know. My thing is student-teacher mostly, again for personal reasons... ;)**

**Queen of Mean - Thank you, I'm aware that SSHG is not everyone's cup of tea and can be pretty polarising. I consider it a great compliment that my writing appeals to a non-Snanger fan :D**

**Legion - Do hurry up and write your fic my lovely, then you can read the rest of mine! Plus then I get to read yours as well, we all win lol!**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: For A Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic**

Hermione had been quite prepared for running a gauntlet of curious and revolted stares during their outing to Hogsmeade together, although as it turned out, she needn't have worried. There were a couple of glances thrown their way, but that might simply have been people's curiosity at seeing Snape, rather than who he was with. His reputation, and the gory tale of his run-in with Lord Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack preceded him.

So they'd managed to find a small table in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, where Rosmerta had served them drinks and a meal. Severus nursed a redcurrant rum, while Hermione went for a half-pint of Butterbeer.

"Only a few weeks until term starts. I can't wait to start taking my NEWTs!"

"Hermione," He set his drink down and regarded her seriously, "You've been doing NEWT-level magic for almost as long as I've known you - quite frankly, I was rather surprised you would even bother to come back for the formalities. If Potter, Weasley and Longbottom can get jobs with the Ministry without NEWTs then I'm quite sure they would welcome you with open arms as well."

Looking up from her sausage and mash, Hermione flushed.

"Yes, well. I'd just like to have it on paper really. Get the '_formalities'_ sorted out. Plus," she added, busily slicing off another bit of sausage and scraping potato onto her fork, "I don't really know what I want to do when I graduate. I was a little busy last year to really do much thinking about careers!" She grinned at him quirkily.

"Fair enough. Although if you ever consider a career in Potions, I can put in a good word for you..." He smirked across the table at her, his features flickering darkly in the weak light of the candle between them.

"Thank you Severus, but that's not why I'm going out with you. I'd like to achieve things on my own merits."

"Well, you certainly have plenty of... merits..."

She knew before she looked up from her plate, where his gaze was directed.

"Oi! I'll have you sacked you know, you pervert!" She laughed at him, secretly flattered that he found her so attractive.

"Oh, I _doubt_ Minerva would want to go through the hassle of firing me for the second time... She knows how... resistant... I can be to the idea..." As she reached out for her drink, Severus extended his arm as well, placing his hand on hers. "You're an astonishing young witch Hermione, and despite the impression I may have given over the years, it has been a privilege to instruct you. I'm sure whatever you turn your hand to, you will achieve great things." Her face was now burning; she cast a furtive glance around to see if anyone had noticed his tender gesture. "I don't care. If they see us. If they talk. I have lived a lie for most of my life, I shall do it no longer." His dark eyes swept around the cosy inn and the many people crowding it, none of whom even glanced their way. "Besides, I hate to break it to you Miss Granger, but it seems the other patrons here do not find us the slightest bit interesting..."

They finished their meal in near-silence, although their eyes met with every mouthful as they ate. Snape threw several Galleons onto the bar, and stepping out into the cool August evening as they left the pub, the streets were still light. He offered Hermione the crook of his arm, and together they strolled through the village in the general direction of the castle, although they were in no hurry to reach their destination.

"Only a few weeks until term starts now. Are you all prepared for your classes?" She leaned her head over onto his arm, and looked up towards him.

"I think so. After seventeen years, I should hope I know what I'm doing by now... I'm sure there'll be some dunderhead arriving who derails my carefully planned lessons in spectacular fashion though. After seventeen years, I wouldn't expect anything else(!) Thank Merlin Longbottom got an offer from the Ministry as well. Minerva might have had to owl Horace to get him to fill my vacated post, should I have been asked to teach that nincompoop again."

"Oh Severus, you know- You make him nervous... If you just went a little easier on Neville, without looming around, plotting on how to take house points from him, I'm sure he would have been much less of a disaster in the laboratory!" Hermione defended her friend, although privately a small part of her agreed with the Potions master - Neville had his talents to be sure, but they lay in a slightly more biological subject, rather than chemical. Snape sniffed indignantly, and spoke with a wry sneer.

"I make everyone nervous, so Albus used to tell me - I don't know what Longbottom's excuse is." Hermione tightened her grip on his arm.

"Well you don't make _me_ nervous I'm afraid, Professor!" She chuckled at him. Snape cast a look down at her, eyebrows raised in mock-scepticism.

"Are you _certain_?" His tone sent a delicious shiver down her spine - how did he _do_ that to her? "I'll think you'll find I can be _very_ intimidating when I try..." He drew his arm in, trapping her own tightly against his body. Hermione sighed contentedly. They meandered their way up the high street, past the owl post office and Dervish & Banges, up towards the train station.

"That reminds me," muttered Snape, "I must pay a visit to Scrivenshaft's this weekend and purchase some new quills. I don't know what Horace did with them all last year, but he seems to have completely exhausted the store cupboard supplies."

"Ooh, I'll go with you!" Hermione's face lit up, no doubt thrilled at the thought of an opportunity to browse parchment and other scholarly accessories. "Unless you want to shop on your own, of course?"

"You would be most welcome to join me, I find little joy in doing anything much alone these days." He flashed her a rare smile that showed his teeth and made his black eyes sparkle with a dark warmth. "I shan't imagine I shall take very long though. I have no need for any personal supplies at the moment, I shall merely be buying a few basics. Minerva can put them on expenses."

The pair walked up past Hogsmeade train station and on towards the castle, along the shores of the Black Lake. Hermione noticed that Severus avoided looking in the direction of the Shrieking Shack; whether he merely had no interest in the place that had on several occasions nearly claimed his life, or he was actively trying to avoid thinking about it, she was unsure. Her own mind flashed back to that moment in May - the early hours filled with blood, and dirt, and death, and she averted her thoughts. There were lights on in the Great Hall, and the stained glass windows twinkled picturesquely in the distance.

"Are you cold?" he asked her. "Would you like my cloak?"

"No, I'm fine, the walk will keep me warm. Besides, it looks much better on you!" She placed her hand in his and led him up the winding path towards the school. He paid no attention to the castle windows, nor anything else around them, only her; the warmth of her fingers on his skin.

Once back inside the Entrance Hall, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

"Thank you Severus - that was a lovely meal."

"You're most welcome. Not much of a treat, I know. I shall have to come up with something a little more exotic in a few weeks' time..."

She cocked her head at him curiously, in a way that reminded him disconcertingly of himself.

"A little Snidget tells me it's a certain witch's birthday in September?"  
Hermione was surprised - either that somebody close to her had either mentioned her upcoming birthday to Snape, or that he'd thought to enquire.

"Um, yes! I don't expect anything though, there's not really anything I need to be honest. Mum and Dad usually get me someth-..." she trailed off, her words caught in her throat. Her parents were still in Australia, blissfully unaware of the wizarding war, or the fact they even had a daughter. As she blinked back tears, Snape gently cupped her face in his hand before pressing his lips to hers softly in a gesture of support and empathy. Overcome with emotion, Hermione deepened the kiss, grasping at him in sudden desperate need. Eventually they parted for air and she bit her bottom lip in disappointment at the loss. "I need to go and find them, I guess. I miss them, and I doubt they'll be in any danger now the rest of the Death Eaters are on the run. Australia's such a large place though, I don't know where I'll start!" Hearing despair creeping into her voice, Snape placed a hand gently on her cheek again and looked her in the eye.

"I can help, if you'd like? Although I'm sure Potter has contacts at the Ministry who can help..." He added, "If it were my parents, I'd have left them there, personally. And not because they were enjoying the weather! My mother loved me I think, as much as she ever loved anything, but my father..."

"Did you ever think about changing your name to your mother's?" Hermione breathed, curious. Voldemort had created himself a new name to distance himself from his hated Muggle father after all, and Snape had adopted Eileen's maiden name as a nom-de-plume for his spell creations, albeit apparently only in private.

"Briefly. However I'd already developed my fearsome teaching reputation - necessary when you're instructing people barely five years your junior - and I felt 'Professor Prince' wouldn't have quite the same intimidating ring to it." Hermione smothered a giggle.

"No, true. Well, you'll always be a prince to me!"

He kissed her passionately again, she tasted faintly of Butterbeer still. He'd told her before that he was not a good man, but he must have done _something_ of merit in his life for him to deserve the affections of a woman like her.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Perhaps. I need to sort out a few more ingredients to restock the Potions stores yet though. And later this week I have a follow-up appointment with a Healer at St Mungo's - just routine," he said, seeing her look of alarm. "Understandably, they're rather interested in monitoring my recovery, given the, ah, unusual, nature of my injuries."

"Right. Actually Madam Pomfrey's asked me to help with some brewing again for the infirmary, so I expect I'll be busy for a bit as well." She twiddled with a curl of hair absent-mindedly.

"Until we meet again, then?" Snape murmured in a low voice, next to her ear.

"Yes, you'd better go," she told him, "Otherwise if you keep breathing in my ear like that, I might have to put you in a Body-Bind and drag you up to Gryffindor Tower and keep you there!" He smirked at her.

"How awful(!) I'd best be on my way then..." Offering her a short, stiff bow, he squeezed her hand affectionately, turned, and swept away through the door that led to the dungeons.

Waiting until he was out of sight, and his clipped footsteps had faded away, Hermione made her way up to the common room, where she was still the only occupant. Reading by the fire for a little, she eventually retired to bed, tucking the book under her arm as she ascended the staircase to the dormitory so she might be able to get in another one or two chapters in bed before lights out.


	27. Land Down Under

**A/N: So this is probably one of my less-obscure chapter titles - you may be able to guess what's coming up in this one! ;)**

**Oh, and smut ahoy!**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Land Down Under**

In fact they didn't see each other at all the next day, or the next couple of days after that, other than passing in the Great Hall at mealtimes on several occasions.

The first of September was soon upon them, although a few more students had arrived early - some of them relatives of those who were still at the castle helping with the repair efforts. Hermione felt a pang as she went down to the railway station that afternoon to meet the Hogwarts Express. Even though she knew they weren't coming, she couldn't help scan the disembarking students for a couple of mops of black and red hair. After a couple of minutes, she was startled to see a flash of a very distinctive red in the crowd, and almost wondered if Ron had decided not to become an Auror after all, before realising the vibrant coiffure belonged to his sister, Ginny. The youngest Weasley was walking next to an equally startling blonde girl: Luna Lovegood. The pair of them spotted Hermione and waved enthusiastically.

"Herm! Over here!" Ginny broke into a wide smile.

"Hi Ginny, hi Luna. How have you been?"

"Great, thanks!" replied the redhead, "Sorry to hear Ron's been a prat, Harry told me. How's, uh, Severus?"

Hermione was thankful for her friend's acceptance of her relationship with Snape. While she hadn't burdened her with all the gory details - although no doubt Ginny would be trying to wheedle them out of her once they were all ensconced up in the Gryffindor dormitory together - she had sent a couple of owls to the Burrow over the summer, so the younger girl was aware of the basics.

"Good, thanks Gin. I'm glad to hear you and Harry are back together again. I hope your mum and dad are okay?" She thought suddenly of the other Weasleys, and in particular George, who must be missing his twin terribly.

"Yeah, Dad's rushed off his feet at the Ministry - the Aurors are so busy at the moment, they're using every available resource to track down any Death Eaters that escaped the battle. Everyone's working overtime, Percy too. They're so desperate to get more boots on the ground, Harry, Ron and Neville are already out in the field - supervised of course. Harry really seems to be enjoying it though, despite everything. That sort of thing's what he's really good at - I think he's pleased to be able to do something useful. He still feels like he hasn't done enough for the war effort, despite everything!"

"I expect the Nargles are helping!" piped up Luna happily. Hermione gave her a warm smile, no longer so bothered by the Ravenclaw's eccentricities.

"Come on then," she told them, "Let's get up to the castle for the Feast."

The three of them made their way up the track to the Main Entrance and into the Great Hall. The first-years were Sorted and the traditional start-of-term meal began. For once, she didn't have to watch someone next to her shovelling in chicken legs nineteen to the dozen. Sipping at her pumpkin juice, she looked up at the teachers' table and realised that there was somebody missing. A tall, dark somebody. She frowned. Was he ill? Surely he'd have let her know? He couldn't simply have been busy brewing potions still - she was sure he could cast a Freezing Charm on it for long enough to take dinner as he normally did. Shooting a perturbed glance towards Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress spotted her and returned her look with a warm but bland smile. No help there, then!

Just then, Ginny distracted her by offering a slice of apple pie and custard. Accepting the dessert from her friend, she forced her attention away from the top table. After all, Severus was his own man - she wasn't his keeper, and he was under no obligation to tell her where he was every minute of the day.

* * *

When she'd arrived at her first Potions lesson to find Professor Slughorn stood up front by the blackboard, Hermione had done a double-take. Had she somehow used a Time-Turner to go back two _years_?! Slughorn had reassured her of her sanity by announcing that he was _'just filling in as a substitute for Professor Snape'_, which actually hadn't really reassured her much at all. Where _was_ he?! Maybe the thought of returning to work, where the students might know of his wartime secret, had been too much for him? She thought he was made of sterner stuff than that though.

Snape was absent from Potions classes for the best part of a week, before she came down for breakfast one morning and instantly spotted him in the seat next to McGonagall. He looked up as she entered the Hall, and merely nodded at her in acknowledgement. A nod! She was going to kill him! Returning his gesture with a forced smile, Hermione sat down in front of a steaming bowl of porridge, and forced herself to ignore him for the rest of the meal. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing his absence had troubled her.

He'd been no more forthcoming when she'd spent time with him privately either. When pressed - tactfully - he said he'd been working; that it hadn't been a dangerous job, merely time-consuming. And that was that. He'd side-tracked her by dotting kisses along her chin, and she'd decided that she could ask him about it again at a later date if she was still concerned - his warm breath on her skin and soft hair tickling her suddenly outweighing any other priority just then.

* * *

A few days before her birthday, she was in the common room when something rapped loudly at the window, making the people nearest jump in alarm. Opening it, they let in a large and rather striking-looking owl. Black, and banded all over with white stripes, it had a vibrant orange beak, which it used to peck insistently at the book Hermione was holding. Sighing, she closed the pages, and turned her attention to the bird. It nipped at her fingers firmly but not nastily. Untying the note from its leg, she reached into a pot on the table in front of the fire, taking out a couple of owl treats and offering them to the bird, which eyed up the snacks suspiciously before deciding it wasn't going to get anything better from her, and wolfing them down in one.

Hermione had never seen that particular owl before, but it didn't look like one of the ordinary school post birds. There was only one person she could think of who might choose a black, slightly peculiar-looking owl to deliver their personal letters. Curling sideways on the sofa, she opened the letter surreptitiously, making sure nobody might read it over her shoulder. While she couldn't imagine Snape writing anything that might embarrass either him or her, it never hurt to be cautious. So far she'd not heard anything from anyone in judgement of the two of them and their relationship, but it was a school, and she had no doubt that people talked, and would pounce on anything vaguely amusing or scandalous. There were only two lines on the note though.

_This Saturday, 8am. Dungeons._

_SS_

Still none the wiser, Hermione folded the note back up. Snape's bird was now bothering a couple of second-years who had been trying to build a house of cards with an Exploding Snap deck. The owl pecked at one of the lower cards, which was supporting most of the pile. With a slightly malevolent look in its dark eyes, the owl tugged at the nine of hearts, which dislodged from the tower with a '_crack'_, and the rest of the house tumbled down onto the table, much to the two young Gryffindors' dismay. Mission accomplished, the owl turned and pecked demandingly at the Tower window again, until one of the students opened it to let it out, and the bird disappeared into the night with a haughty flap of wings and a guttural screech. Of _course_ his owl would be every bit as anti-social as the wizard himself...! Hermione shot an apologetic look towards the dejected card-players, before retiring to bed for the night.

Saturday morning came around quickly enough, and Hermione was secretly glad that she had an excuse not to spend the whole weekend studying in the library. Perhaps he wanted to take another trip into Hogsmeade with her? She threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and made her way down to the dungeons. Knocking slightly apprehensively on the door to Severus's quarters, a couple of seconds passed before he replied.

"Enter."

Pushing the heavy oak door open, she popped her head around into the room.

"Hi! Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Hermione trotted over to Snape, who was stood by a desk, rifling through the drawers as if searching for something.

"Just checking I have everything," he replied, leaving her no less baffled than before. He looked her up and down. "You might be a bit hot in that. Do you have a t-shirt on underneath?" She nodded, frowning.

"I take it we're not staying in the dungeons then?"

Nobody could ever accuse the underground corridors of Hogwarts to be anything approaching 'hot'.

"No."

He was wearing neither his cloak, nor his frock coat - just a formal white shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and his usual long, black, buttoned trousers. Hermione tentatively peeled her sweater off and draped it over the back of a chair. There was what looked like a rusty old bath tap on the desk in front of him. She stared at it.

"Is that- is that a Portkey?!" She couldn't think of any other reason why he'd have such a thing there.

"Very astute, Miss Granger." Snape came around from behind the desk and slipped his arms around her, encircling her waist. "I wanted to wait until your birthday, but..." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "I have something for you. A gift."

"Severus, I-..." It didn't happen often, but Hermione was genuinely lost for words.

"Shhh... It's not a present as such, but I hope you'll like it." Releasing his hold on her, he stepped up to the desk and beckoned her over. "Come."

As she joined him, he took one hand in his, and reached his other out to take hold of the tap. Hermione did the same, and his eyes were on her as they touched it together at the same time. She felt an immediate yanking sensation as if her spine were being pulled through her belly button by an invisible hook, then a wave of nausea, and then...

* * *

Heat. So _very_ hot! And bright. She blinked and let go of the Portkey in order to shield her eyes from the fierce sun that she was now stood beneath. They were stood between a couple of large buildings, in what seemed to be some sort of industrial estate. There was nobody around.

"Are we-... are we in... _Australia_?!" Hermione almost couldn't speak.

"We are. Once again, your deductive powers never cease to amaze me." She couldn't tell if he were being sarcastic or not.

"Have you-... Did you find my parents...?!" Her brown eyes went wide.

"I did. I must say, you did rather a good job with your Memory Charm - it took me several days to reverse it. I had to keep Obliviating them in the meantime, every time they got suspicious of what I was up to. Wendell and Monica Wilkins were not amused to have me as a guest in their house for any length of time, let me tell you that. I can only hope that with their knowledge of the magical world restored, they might be slightly less hostile."

Snape took her by the arm and guided her out of the industrial area and down the street towards a row of very ordinary-looking houses. He headed up the path towards a terracotta-coloured brick bungalow with a bright-blue front door. She stopped at the driveway, suddenly apprehensive after all her wishing for this moment.

"Hermione." Severus said kindly, turning to extend a hand towards her. She gulped, then tiptoed down the path towards him and took his hand, squeezing his fingers in gratitude. Together they climbed the step to the door and Snape knocked, before taking a step back to allow Hermione to be the first to greet them.

Through the frosted glass panel beside the door, they spotted movement, and they could see as a woman approached. The handle turned, and in the doorway stood a dark-haired woman who had Hermione's chin and nose. A second or two passed as they stared at one another, then the woman clapped a hand over her mouth and turned back into the house.

"Wend-... David...? _David_!" Turning back to Hermione, she let out a sob and stepped over the threshold to embrace her daughter. "Hermione! Oh my goodness, I'm so glad to see you, I've been so worried! How are you?" She was fretting and fussing over the younger woman, smoothing her wayward curls away from her forehead attentively. Movement from inside the house told Severus that David Granger had heard his wife's calls.

"Jean? What is i-? Hermione!" A tall, sandy-haired man with a healthy tan came into view and approached to embrace his daughter as well.

"Come in, come in..." exclaimed Mrs Granger, "Please..."

They all headed into the house and settled on an enormous squashy sofa in the front room. Hermione and her mother were wiping at their eyes with their sleeves discreetly. Mr Granger cleared his throat.

"Hermione, it's good to see you sweetheart. How have you been?"

Deciding that her parents really didn't need the whole rundown of the war against Voldemort, for their own good, Hermione glossed over the horrors.

"Fine, I'm fine, thanks Dad. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to come and find you. I hope you know, I did it for your safety. I was worried that the Death Eaters might try and use you against me to get to Harry. I'm so sorry."  
"Severus has filled us in on the details darling, we understand. Well, we don't _understand_, as such, but we know whatever you did, you did it because you thought it was the best option."

Snape coughed tactfully.

"Indeed. I discovered from the Ministry that the Death Eater Yaxley - a Dark Wizard - paid a visit to your home in Hampstead not long after Hermione made her arrangements for you to move. If it wasn't for her efforts, I'm quite sure you would not be alive right now." Jean Granger hugged her daughter close.

"Goodness, we've had such a lovely time here, I can't believe it! Thank heaven you're okay though sweetie."

"I'm so glad to see you Mum - I thought I might never find you, and you'd spend the rest of your lives in Australia!"

The formerly-Monica Wilkins blushed slightly at this.

"Oh darling, you're such a clever girl, I'm sure it would never have come to that. Although..." she trailed off.

Snape caught her eye for an instant, and realised exactly what she was about to say. There was no way to subtly break it to Hermione before her mother told her though.

"Although... It's really lovely here," the Muggle woman continued, "The climate's been really good for your dad - he's not been ill once since we arrived. And dentists are much better paid here than in England too!"

"Mum?" Hermione sounded concerned. "Do you-... Are you saying-... Do you want to _stay_ in Australia?!"

"Now, we're not saying we'll stay _forever_," started her father, "but your mum and I have talked it through, and if you're okay with it darling, we'd like to stay out here for a little while longer. Make the most of it, you know? You can obviously visit fairly easily - more easily than if you didn't have magic, I mean. Maybe another six months to a year...?"

The reunion with her parents hadn't gone quite as she'd expected. Hermione moved around the kitchen in a daze, helping her mum boil the kettle to make everyone a cup of tea.

"I must say, it's really nice of the professor to help you darling," her mum cooed as she got the mugs out of the cupboard. "He seems very accommodating - he's a little unconventional maybe, but he must be nice to take lessons with?"

With every fibre of her being, Hermione resisted the urge to burst out laughing. Her mother was obviously still unaware of her daughter's relationship with Snape - clearly he had brought their memories back, but not seen fit to fill them in on all the new developments since they'd left the country. She wondered how 'nice' her mum would really think he was, if she knew that these days, Snape mostly 'accommodated' Hermione into his bed in the dungeons. Mind you, pretty much everything about their peculiar daughter baffled the Grangers, in a sweet-but-bemused sort of way, so she didn't see why her love-life should be any different.

"Oh... yes. Sev- Professor Snape is very... nice. He's a war hero, you know? I'm sure he hasn't told you the details, but he spent a long time spying for our side - he nearly died."

"He told us you saved him?" Her mother beamed at her.

Hermione was slightly astonished that Severus would have mentioned something so personal about himself to them.

"Um, yes, I suppose. We saw him... get injured,"

She crushed down a memory of a crumpled black figure lying in a bloody heap on the floor, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear out of habit as a distraction, "And luckily I had some potions and things with me that we used to help him." Her mother probably would have humoured her and listened to her prattle endlessly on about bezoars and Blood-Replenishers and Healers, bless her, although most of it would doubtless have gone over her head.

"You're such a clever girl, Hermione," Her mum was putting teabags into the mugs, and digging around in the drawer for a spoon. She beamed at her daughter. "We were so worried about you, even if we only found out how much danger you were in once the war was over. Professor Snape was telling us about the mission Headmaster Dumbledore let for you and Harry, it sounds terrifying!"

"Actually, Professor Snape became the Headmaster himself last year," Hermione informed her mother. "He took over after Dumbledore's... passing. He stood down to let Professor McGonagall take over as Head now though, he's gone back to just being Head of Slytherin house. But yes, we had quite a lot to do last year, we were on the move a lot. Severus actually came to find us at one point - he knew we needed help to destroy the Horcruxes we'd found. He did far more for the war than any of us ever did, in fact. If he's not mentioned that, then he's being more than modest!"

If her mother was confused about what exactly a Horcrux was, she made no comment on it, merely continuing to stir the mugs of brewing tea and fish out the teabags.

"Lovely dear. As I said, he seems like a nice fellow. We've not met many of your teachers before - it's been nice to get a bit of insight into that side of your life."

The two women moved back through into the lounge, where Snape and Hermione's father were sat facing each other across the room in a moment of awkward silence. David Granger was reclining in an armchair, while Snape perched uncomfortably upright on one end of the couch. Hermione sat next to him, close enough for their knees to touch, and she felt him stiffen slightly at the contact. He'd faced down the most dangerous Dark Wizard of the century, yet he was nervous of letting his girlfriend's parents know that they were dating. She smiled a little at the irony, and leaned right across his lap to a small table next to the chair, brushing her hand over his forearm as she picked up a small china ornament of an otter.

"Oh! I remember getting this for you for your birthday one year, Mum. I'm glad you brought it with you!" Her mother beamed at her.

"Yes, I was so confused about that since we've been here. I knew it was important to me, but I couldn't quite remember _why_. It must have been some sort of subconscious reminder of you."

She sat herself next to Hermione, on the opposite end of the couch to Snape. Hermione placed the ornament back down carefully and sat back up straight, ignoring Severus's exasperated glare in her direction.

"So! Jean tells me you were protecting our little girl during the war then Severus?" Her dad said, leaning forward in his chair. "We can never thank you enough for taking care of her."

"I... did no more than anyone else would have, under the circumstances."

A traitorous memory of snogging her senseless in a tent in the Forest of Dean surfaced in his normally ordered mind, and he willed it away. Perhaps he had done a _little_ more than others might have...

They continued with mostly small-talk for another hour or so, before Snape placed his second empty mug of tea down on the side-table and cleared his throat.

"As much as I hate to put an end to this reunion, I fear it's getting rather late. As you know, it's reasonably simple for us to make a return trip at some point should you and Hermione wish to visit each other again. I shall get in touch with the Australian Ministry for them to connect your fireplace to the Floo Network temporarily."

He stood, and Hermione looked up at him, struck by the impression of both how very handsome he was - imposingly tall, and looking dapper in his shirtsleeves - and also how grateful she was that he'd not worn a cloak. It was inevitable that her parents would eventually find out about the nature of their relationship, and she'd rather their first impression of him be one of a well turned-out intellectual, and not an overgrown bat!

Having said that, today was _not_ his first meeting with her parents obviously, so hopefully he'd not turned up looking too un-Muggle-like when they'd originally opened the door to him as Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Then again, he'd said he'd Obliviated them a couple of times, so even if he had alarmed them, they should be none the wiser anymore. She was rather grateful at that moment that she had fallen for a half-blood, who had at least a decent understanding of Muggle life. The thought of having to patiently explain to a wizarding boyfriend how telephones worked, and that, no, you _couldn't_ plant the garden liberally with Honking Daffodils because they'd frighten the neighbours, would have driven her mad.

Before they left, Severus excused himself to use the bathroom, and her mother cleared the mugs away to the kitchen. Alone in the living room with her father, he came over and gave her a warm hug.

"It's been lovely to see you again Hermione, thanks for coming. Sorry if you're upset about us not moving back straight away, but look at it this way - at least it means you made a good choice in us sending us here!" He kissed her on the cheek, then stepped back to look at her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Now - you make sure that young man of yours looks after you, do you hear me? Your mother and I would love it if you both visited us again soon. Wherever's convenient for you, of course - I know your new term's just started." He gave her a pat on the shoulder. Hermione stared at him for a second.

"My-...? He's- he's not-... I-" she stammered, turning a vibrant shade of pink, wondering what had tipped her dad off.

"Oh darling, I saw how he looked at you earlier. A chap who looks at a young lady in that way is either already going out with her, or would dearly like to! For what it's worth, he seems like a very fine, upstanding wizard. He's certainly been very helpful to us - I can imagine you two bonded over a shared love of books? Severus has certainly been poring over enough of them here while he's been sorting out the Memory Charm you put on us. He seemed rather impressed with your skills."

Hermione had the vague thought, that the thing that most surprised her about her father's reaction was that he had called Severus a 'young man'. The Potions master was now pushing forty, and despite her own utter infatuation with him and appreciation for his slightly unorthodox appearance, she recognised that due to the trauma of recent times he probably looked a smidge older than even his advancing years.

Her parents were kind people though - they'd only ever wanted to see their bright, quirky daughter happy, and apparently that extended to letting her cavort with wizards old enough to be her father. Not that it was any of their business anyway, she reminded herself, although perhaps she'd try and conceal for as long as possible the fact that Severus had been so instrumental in the fight against the Death Eaters because he'd been one, and was also, technically, a murderer. She'd never been the type to bring home bad boys before. In fact, due to her overly-studious nature growing up, she'd never really brought _any_ boys home before, bad or otherwise.

Offering her dad a watery smile, they were fortunately interrupted by her mother and Snape rejoining them in the lounge. Exchanging goodbyes, the witch and wizard left the terracotta bungalow, and strolled back down the street towards the industrial buildings, and their waiting Portkey.

"Thank you, Severus! I know I said I didn't want anything for my birthday, but that was the best present I could ever imagine. I can't believe you found them so quickly, you're an angel."

She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek, and he placed an arm around behind her waist as they continued their walk.

"You're most welcome. It was the least I could do. Minerva was more than happy to get Horace in to cover for me for a short while whilst I made enquiries. And I was more than happy to escape from a dungeon full of inept Hufflepuffs for a bit. Also, I can see why your parents are keen to stay for a while: the climate is quite pleasant."

"You're not thinking of emigrating too?" she teased. "I don't think a tan would suit you."

"Perhaps not."

They arrived back in front of the bath tap they had left secreted in a narrow alleyway between two buildings, and with another yanking sensation, they found themselves back in Snape's quarters in the Hogwarts dungeons. They both shivered at the sudden change in temperature; he strode to the door and unhooked a cloak from the back, throwing it around his shoulders.

"Can I get you one?"

"No, I'm okay thanks - I'll just share yours!"

She prodded him back towards the shabby sofa by the wall, until it hit him in the back of the knees and he sank down onto the seat. Curling up with him, she draped a fold of his cloak over the top of her, so that it covered the pair of them. It was still only the afternoon, although it had been late at night when they had left her parents. Fortunately Portkey travel induced only nausea, and not jet-lag.

Snape Summoned a large, leather-bound book from a nearby shelf, and settled down to read, turning the pages with one hand, and stroking Hermione's hair absent-mindedly with the other. Just as she was almost drifting off, a piercing screech came from the other side of the door that led to the corridor outside. Scowling slightly, Snape moved his hand from the book to his wand, and opened the door.

"Alohomora!"

A black-and-white-striped owl hopped in through the entrance, hooting indignantly. It flapped a few times, and fluttered its way to the sofa where it perched on the back and pecked incessantly at Snape's head.

"Blasted bird! Merlin's beard - will you _stop_!" He pointed his wand at the owl threateningly and it gave a quick hop sideways away from him. "_Thank you_! Now - do you have a message for me?" Snape held out a hand. The bird proffered a thin, orange leg, to which was tied a folded bit of parchment, attached with brown twine. Releasing the note, Snape dismissed the bird, which let out another unholy screech and soared out of the room into one of the other chambers in his quarters. "Mmm, it's Minerva. I sent her a note earlier to say I would be incommunicado for a while today. She's asked me to let her know when I've returned. Merlin be damned if I'm using that owl again though - it does look rather striking I'll admit, but it's a bloody hazard..." Refolding the note, he slid it carefully into his trouser pocket, then raised his wand again and gave a lazy swish. "Expecto Patronum!"

Hermione casually glanced over towards where his doe Patronus had appeared in the middle of the room. Except that it wasn't a doe at all... Flipping and floating in the air in front of them, was a long, silvery creature. She sat up and stared at it, open-mouthed.

"Is that-? Is your Patronus an _otter_?!" She felt Snape shift slightly uncomfortably in his seat next to her.

"Ahem. It appears so."

"I thought you had a doe?! Harry saw it, he told me-..."

"Yes, well-" Snape interrupted her, "-it _was_ a doe. And now it is... _not_."

She could feel his dark eyes on her, assessing her reaction. A change to one's Patronus was a rather unusual occurrence, as far as she was aware. She'd spoken about it with Tonks once. For Severus's to change to presumably reflect hers... that was a serious indication of the depth of his feelings for her. She knew he likely wouldn't appreciate a gushing acknowledgement of that fact though, even in private - especially given the meaning behind the form of his previous Patronus. She couldn't have been more stunned though, if he'd declared he was giving up teaching and taking a sabbatical to go hunting for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!

"It's... lovely." Hermione played it safe.

She had been going to say 'pretty', but somehow she thought that might reflect in a less-than-masculine light on him somehow. She wasn't sure if an otter was more, or less manly than a deer. If only he'd had a Patronus before he'd met Lily Evans, he might have been able to produce something more apt for his own personality. Mind you, an otter wasn't the worst, she supposed. They might look sweet, but they had a vicious bite! Silently thanking the universe that her own Patronus wasn't something like a butterfly or a kitten, she hoped he wasn't too bitter about it.

"Hmm..."

He voiced no opinion on her tactful verdict. Still pointing his wand at the silver otter, he spoke to it, "Minerva, I am now returned with Miss Granger."

With a swish, the Patronus swooped across the room and through the stone walls, in the direction of the Headmistress's office. Hermione snuggled back up closer to Snape, draping an arm across the front of his chest and sneaking her fingers through the gap in his shirt, tracing light circles on his skin.

"Lovely..."

She didn't know if he was repeating her last words, or if it was a comment on her attentions.

"That wasn't your birthday present, you know," he said, referring to their antipodean trip. "I would have done it anyway. I was going to get something else for you, but I wasn't sure what you might like. A new quill? I saw some rather eye-catching Fwooper ones in Scrivenshaft's the other week? Or is that too boring and academic? Perhaps you would prefer something a little more recreational?"

"Severus! Shhh... I don't want anything else, thank you. You've already done quite enough. Although..." A mischievous glint appeared in her eye, spurred on by the memory of his otter Patronus, "perhaps I can give _you_ a gift...?"

"Me? My birthday is not until January, I-" Her hand was still roaming over his chest. Hermione had undone a button so that she was able to fit her entire hand inside, and was teasing the sparse patch of hair between his nipples. Whether it was the cool dungeon air reaching them, or the proximity of her tantalising touch that was making them stiffen, he couldn't say. He then noticed that she was working on _another_ button, and it was one of the ones keeping his trousers closed. "On second thoughts... maybe we could consider it an early Christmas present...?" Peacetime had turned his willpower soft, he mused. Or perhaps it was just the effect she had on him? Hermione was certainly having another kind of effect on him at the moment, as her wandering hands had now managed to undo all of his trouser buttons and she was stroking him through his underwear. "Well if this is how you repay me, all I can say is, it's a great shame you only have one set of paren-"

She cut him off abruptly with a fierce kiss, sitting up to lean over him on the sofa, her hand still inside his trousers. Snape inhaled through his teeth in a soft hiss as she reached into his underwear and gently pulled his cock out, sliding her hand up and down him as he started to harden rapidly under her touch. Feeling her smile at him through her passionate kisses, he brought his hands up to caress her hips.

"Merlin's beard, you have no idea how good that feels."

He threw his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes, quietening his mind of everything except for the feeling of her. He felt her place a kiss on his jaw, and was expecting her to make her way delicately down his scarred neck, as she so often did. He felt nothing, however, and was just about to open his eyes out of concern, when all of a sudden he felt her warm lips again... around his cock. Opening his mouth to speak, he found himself suddenly incapable, as if someone had cast a Tongue-Tying Curse on him. He snapped his mouth shut again, closed his eyes, and let her work her magic.

In between long, slow sucks, and quick, short ones, Hermione ran her tongue experimentally up the underside, and was pleased as he let out a small moan. He was so horribly sexy when he was at her mercy like this - just hearing him enjoying her efforts turned her on. When she thought he was suitably aroused, she sat upright and swung a leg over his lap so that she was straddling him on the seat and wrapped both arms around the back of his neck.

Severus smiled at her adoringly, trying not to be too frustrated at the sudden withdrawal of her _attentions_. Raising herself up for a moment, Hermione unfastened her own trousers and peeled them down her legs along with her underwear, kicking her trainers off and slipping her feet out of her clothing. She settled back down onto his lap, now dressed in just her t-shirt. Snape's hands ran up her smooth thighs, coming to rest on her arse and giving it a light squeeze. She ground herself against his erection teasingly in response.

"Would you like your 'thank you' present?" she asked him flirtatiously, running a fingertip down his nose and over his lips. He leaned forward to catch her mouth with his, and gave her an intense kiss that made her toes curl with excitement.

"Mmmhmm," he replied, his rumbling baritone even more husky than normal due to the desperate passion building in him. "Please, Hermione."

Grasping him firmly again, Hermione positioned him carefully beneath her and lowered herself slowly down. If he'd thought her blowjob had felt good, it was nothing compared to this, being buried deep in her. She was so tight and wet. Wet for him. The thought made him let out a slightly feral growl of passion. Impatient, he used his hands on her bum to prompt her to start moving, guiding her up and down.

Hermione sat motionless for a moment, savouring the sensation of him entering her. He felt so perfect. At his suggestion, she started to rock back and forward, sliding up and down on him - carefully to start with, then speeding up as they both became more and more lost in the throes of their passion. She lifted herself completely off him now and again, loving the way he gasped in ecstasy every time she fell back down onto his slick cock again. Snape took one hand off her bum and reached in front of her, slipping a single finger down towards the point where their bodies met and stroking her. Hermione bucked forward violently at his touch - clearly she was just as aroused as he was. Flicking a tongue out over his lips and taking the other hand off her arse to quickly wipe the sweat from his brow, before placing it back again to urge her on, Severus groaned with urgent pleasure.

"Oh! Merlin... Go on, Hermione. Merlin's beard, you feel so good!"

Just as he said this, she sat back, reaching a hand behind her and through her legs to stroke his balls while she rode him. Seeing stars, he redoubled his own hand's efforts, and was thrilled as she started to whimper softly under his touch.

"Oh God, Severus! Yes! Just there, oh God!"

"Come for me, Hermione. That's it. I want you to come for me..."

She found it impossible to resist his command. Breathing raggedly, her legs trembling with the effort of straddling him plus the release building in her core, she paused for a second just as she was about to rock forward again, with him still half-buried in her. Her body convulsed a couple of times, and she allowed herself to sink back down onto him as the feeling of her climax pulsed through her belly. She opened her eyes to find another glittering black pair staring back at her, the shadow of a smirk on his face as he silently congratulated himself on pleasuring her like that.

Not wishing to leave him wanting, she took a couple of deep breaths and resumed her thrusting, cupping his balls again and giving them a light squeeze. She watched him shake his head to dislodge a few sweaty strands of hair from his face and she reached up tenderly to help him, smoothing them away and caressing his hair, running her hands down over the back of his head and neck. He was breathing heavily now, pushing himself up off the floor with his feet to meet her with every thrust. Giving a couple of last, gasping pants, he jerked violently, once, twice, then relaxed back onto the sofa, arms splayed out beside him.

"One hundred points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger!"

She giggled, and planted a kiss on his damp forehead. Not wanting him to withdraw from her just yet, she remained on his lap for a few minutes, chin resting over his shoulder in an intimate cuddle.

"We really should...?" Knowing he was probably right, she reluctantly climbed off, moving to sit gingerly next to him on the couch.

"Have you got your wand?" Seeing his suggestive glance in response to her question, she cocked her head and glared at him. "Your _other_ wand! Nobody likes a smart-arse you know, Severus!"

He felt around down the side of the cushions and extracted the thirteen inches of ebony from down between two of them. Casting a Cleaning Spell over them both, he tucked his 'other' wand back into his trousers, and made himself decent again.

"Well, I must say, that was rather enjoyable. And it's not even your birthday yet. I think we should celebrate it every week, if that's the outcome."

**A/N: Apologies to Snape, who never seems to be able to have his **_**own**_** Patronus, but instead spends his life having it defined by the women he loves ;) But then, his love defines **_**him**_**, so I think it's fairly fitting.**

**Also, the conversation with Hermione's parents, where they call Snape a young man, is partly autobiographical, in case anyone thinks that's ridiculous and unbelievable at all! A chap I was seeing arrived at the house once to pick me up for a date while my grandmother was there, who commented about him looking like a 'nice young man'. He was 38. I was 19 at the time. I'm sure he would have been flattered if he'd heard :D**


	28. Points of Authority

**A/N: So I am sooooo sorry to the like, two of you that are reading this, for the rather unintentional hiatus on Yule Be Sorry - I'd intended to post it all up as I was writing the final chaps but life got in the way. After getting a bit dispirited with it I finally got a bit of inspiration and plucked up the nerve to finish publishing. Sorry about that ;)**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Points of Authority**

Hermione had spent the rest of the evening in Snape's quarters. He'd had a pile of third-year parchments to grade for the following Monday, and she'd offered to help him. Knowing that she would be every bit as exacting as himself, Snape split the pile in half and slid them across the desk towards her. She knew the textbooks off by heart - no doubt there would be a few of the little dungbrains receiving '_Trolls_' in a slightly less spiky handwriting than normal!

They'd made their way to the Great Hall for dinner, then gone their separate ways for the evening - Hermione returning to Gryffindor Tower, and he to the dungeons. It wasn't until the following morning, on her way to breakfast, that Hermione spotted the house points. Although they were mere weeks into the term, there was a rather large pile of rubies sat in the bottom of the Gryffindor hourglass. She was certain there hadn't been nearly that many in there yesterday. It was a little early in the year for someone to have performed a dramatic act of heroism, she reckoned. Then she remembered: _'one hundred points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger!'_

Oh God. He'd made a sarcastic, off-the-cuff comment in a moment of passion, and the castle had actually taken his words at face value. How on Earth was she going to explain the sudden leap in points to her fellow housemates? She decided to keep her head down, pretend she hadn't noticed, and deny all knowledge if anyone enquired. At least Snape wasn't usually known for awarding points to Gryffindor - perhaps she would evade suspicion. She was sure she'd never live it down if anyone found out what it was she'd received the points for! Flushing deeply, she took a long calming breath before pushing open the Hall door and going through.

Professor McGonagall looked up at her from the top table as Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor bench. She gave the headmistress what she hoped was a polite smile of acknowledgement, then pointedly started up an animated conversation with Ginny, enquiring about how the younger girl's Quidditch practice had gone.

Minerva McGonagall looked from the eighth-year student to the Potions master sat to her right. Severus contorted his mouth in an awkward half-smile at her.

"Minerva. Would you mind passing the marmalade?"

Narrowing her eyes, she gave him a penetrating glare, but he merely held out a waiting hand in her direction - looking her straight in the eye, expression unwavering. With a suspicious sniff, McGonagall picked up the marmalade from by her water goblet, and passed it swiftly to her colleague.

"Thank you." The wizard took the jar from her, and set about emptying the contents onto his toast.

The Headmistress had noticed that there had been a suspiciously large growth in the Gryffindor house points overnight, however as she was no longer the Head of Gryffindor due to her position running the school, she hadn't wanted to overstep the mark and start grilling her colleagues about something that wasn't her business. The pinch-faced witch had the peculiar feeling that Severus might have had something to do with it, but he remained impassive to her scrutiny.

* * *

Not only was Ginny Weasley the Quidditch Captain, but she had also been made Head Girl as well. Hermione had initially felt a pang at not being considered for the position, however she had quickly come to the realisation that she wasn't really all that disappointed. It gave her more time for her studies, for one, and also more time to spend with Severus. And she'd been under quite enough pressure over the past year or so, so it was something of a relief to just sit back and wend her way through the school year as just another girl in the crowd.

Hermione's birthday fell on the Saturday, and Snape had turned up outside the Gryffindor portrait hole on the morning of the nineteenth to wait for her, hands clasped patiently behind his back. Ignoring the scared looks the handful of other students shot him as they made their way past, the Fat Lady's frame eventually swung open to reveal his girl. She stepped out and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Sorry, hope you weren't waiting for me too long? Ginny was telling me about Harry's latest job for the Ministry, I lost track of the time."

"No. No rush anyway - Diagon Alley will still be waiting for us, whatever time we depart."

They walked together down the Tower and through the castle. Hermione resisted the temptation to hold his hand, although he was mere inches away from her. She had the feeling he might not appreciate the gesture in front of the other students, even on a more casual, non-school day. There weren't too many other people up and about yet though, barring a few early birds making their way to Hogsmeade after breakfast. They strolled past the Whomping Willow, which was busy swatting at a flock of birds that had fluttered out from their roost in the Forbidden Forest.

Once beyond the school boundaries, Snape extended his hand to her and she took it, moments later feeling the characteristic tugging, twisting sensation of Apparition. Blinking, she smiled at him before reluctantly letting his hand go. They now found themselves on a vibrant corner of Diagon Alley near Gringotts; Hermione could see the shop wizards starting to put their various signs and wares out on the pavement to attract the first customers of the day.

As it was her birthday, Severus allowed her to choose where they went. Flourish and Blotts was an obvious choice. They spent a while in there, leafing through a selection of interesting-looking books. Severus gravitated towards the Potions section, but returned to her shortly, empty-handed. Hermione was flicking haphazardly through a copy of Gerda Curd's 'Charm Your Own Cheese'. Snape raised his eyebrows at her in mild incredulity.

"A little mundane for you, isn't it? I had thought you might pursue a career in the Ministry with Potter, once you finish your NEWTs - I had no idea you had a secret yearning for a life as a housewife?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he cursed inwardly. Did she think he meant that she would be _his_ housewife? Did she think that he _didn't_ want her to be his housewife, someday? Not knowing what to say that wouldn't make the situation infinitely worse, he cleared his throat and clumsily changed the subject.

"Filius tells me your Charms work is as impressive as ever. I wouldn't be surprised if he recommended to Minerva that she offer you a position at the school teaching the subject once you graduate?"

Adorably, she flushed pink. Even after seven years, the girl was still pleased and surprised to receive praise for her academic achievements. On their way out of the store, he noticed her whip her head away from a display near the front, and she took his arm in a poorly-disguised attempt to usher him out hastily. Stopping dead, he turned towards whatever had alarmed her.

There by the door was a table with a poster on it, depicting a hard-eyed, platinum blonde witch wearing jewelled glasses and a sickly-sweet smile. '_Snape: Scoundrel or Saint? by Rita Skeeter - COMING SOON!_' the poster declared, in large green and silver letters. There was a picture of Severus on there too - the unflattering photo from the _Daily Prophet_ from when he'd been named Hogwarts' headmaster - less prominent than the image of the preening author, who was wafting a long, acid-green quill around her face in a manner that was probably supposed to be sultry. Smiling tightly at Hermione, he patted the hand that she'd placed on his elbow reassuringly.

"You know the truth. I don't care about anyone else's opinion, as you are well-aware."

"You never know," squeaked Hermione, not entirely-convincingly, "she might actually do a good job of letting people know about all the work you did for the Order of the Phoenix during the war?" Slightly more harshly, she muttered, "If she does a hatchet job on you, I might have to go and have another word with her about the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Animagus Registry..."

"Don't concern yourself with it. At least I'm around to refute any libellous accusations the woman may throw my way. Poor Albus got quite the drubbing, I hear... Besides, I like to think you know me to be both saint _and_ scoundrel...!"

He smirked at her rather rakishly, and led her out of the door, his arm around her shoulders. Continuing their retail therapy, he took her to Twilfitt and Tattings to shop for robes. Leaving her with his money pouch and telling her to buy anything that took her fancy, he popped briefly across the road to Slug and Jiggers to pick up the Exploding Fluid they'd ordered in for him.

On returning to the clothes shop a short while later, he noticed Hermione stuffing the end of a package into her beaded handbag. Seeing his enquiring expression, she gave him a sweet smile and told him he'd have to wait and see what she'd bought, handing him back the rest of his money. He didn't even bother to ask what she'd spent - a decade and a half of saving most of his Potions master's wages, plus a year on the headmaster's salary had left him rather more well-off than he had been throughout his childhood. If the Galleons brought her joy, she was welcome to them.

They stopped for lunch in The Fountain of Fair Fortune on Horizont Alley. Snape ordered a pint of Wizard's Brew stout for himself, and raised his eyebrows in surprise when Hermione asked for a pomegranate juice.

"Not going to indulge on your birthday?" he enquired. "I'm paying, of course?"

"Oh no, thanks. Maybe I'll have something later."

After their meal, they spent another hour or two strolling through wizarding London. Snape even escorted her through Knockturn Alley, out of curiosity. She stared with a mix of fascination and horror at all the mysterious and sinister objects in the shop windows. Coming here with Severus was a lot less scary than when she'd ventured there on previous rare occasions. She felt safe, knowing that he would protect her should they encounter any trouble. In fact, he was probably the most dangerous thing in Knockturn Alley!

A hag eyed her up hungrily as they passed her on a corner but, upon noticing the former Death Eater accompanying the Muggle-born, averted her eyes and cackled nervously to herself in the shadows until the unlikely pair had passed. Snape hadn't even glanced in the hag's direction, exuding an effortless air of menace that repelled any chancers and thugs. Hermione tenderly placed her hand in his and gave a squeeze, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand absent-mindedly. He glanced down at her and returned her squeeze with a firm one of his own, filling her with a warm fuzzy feeling. How had she gotten so lucky to bag this man, such a perfect companion for her?

As they strode down the street, she silently admired his profile. There was something deliciously sexy about him, even when he was doing something as mundane as shopping, that thrilled her every day. During their moments alone together in the castle, she had to make a conscious effort not to constantly jump him, lest he begin to think that was the only reason she was interested in him! She worried he would tire with having a horny teenager throwing herself at him every time he took a shower, read a book, or tidied his Potions storeroom. So far he hadn't complained though - he certainly seemed fully recovered from his wounds, and enthusiastically indulged her desires whenever she let them get the better of her.

They returned to Hogwarts in the late afternoon, and retired to Severus' quarters in the dungeons together. It had never really been discussed, but Hermione felt like she almost lived there, so much time did she spend with him. She knew better than to take any liberties though; Snape was a man who had no doubt enjoyed his unfettered life up until now, and she wasn't about to ruin anything by imposing on him. They could both come and go as they pleased, with no expectations on either side.

Looking up from his newspaper, folding the top over and peering across at her, he spoke. Hermione was half-way through one of the books she'd pulled from his shelves - _Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimensy_ \- and was startled by his voice.

"By the way, we're in London again for dinner tonight, I hope you don't mind. I booked a table for your birthday a while ago."

"Gosh Severus, I thought I'd already had my birthday present? Finding my parents, and then the shopping trip today?!"

"Ah yes, your mysterious Twilfitt purchase. No doubt I'll see it at some point. Especially if it was lingerie," he deadpanned, otherwise ignoring her protestation. "Suffice it to say, it's a Muggle establishment. So don't wear robes. Meet me in the Entrance Hall at seven?"

"Um, yes, of course. That'd be lovely!" He really was too good to be true, she thought.

At just gone six o'clock, Severus disappeared into his bedchamber and she could faintly hear him opening drawers and cupboards. Poking her head around the door, she saw him laying out a tuxedo on the bed.

"I think I'll go back up to Gryffindor Tower now then, and get ready?"

He grunted at her in acknowledgment, stripping off his tunic, cravat and shirt, and shrugging on a clean white dress shirt, fastening the sleeves with silver cufflinks. She left him expertly tying a black bow-tie around his neck, and slipped away back to the dormitory.

As the clock tower struck seven, she skipped down the last steps to the Entrance Hall. There was no one around. Now it was _him_ keeping _her_ waiting, she mused, feeling a little self-conscious at being so over-dressed for the location.

* * *

Climbing the last steps up to the Entrance Hall, Snape emerged from the dungeons and saw Hermione already waiting for him by the front door. His breath hitched in his throat for a second. Now he knew what it was she had purchased in Diagon Alley earlier.

She was wearing a long, halterneck dress, in bottle green. The back dipped low, baring her shoulder blades and a good deal of the pale, silky skin below it. As she fidgeted in place, clutching that odd little beaded bag of hers demurely, he could see the dress was split up one side, going up a little beyond her mid-thigh. It was a good job McGonagall wasn't around at that moment - the headmistress's eyebrows would have disappeared into her hairline at the sight of her, weekend or not! Although Snape had seen Hermione completely naked on multiple occasions, he felt suddenly coy about the way he was staring at her body. Turning at his footsteps, she spotted him and broke into a wide smile.

"Hi!" she said.

"Good evening. You look beautiful."

"Thank you. It was worth two hundred Galleons then?"

She was pulling his leg. He smirked at her, playing along.

"Oh, at least." Pulling her close into an embrace, he murmured into her ear seductively, "I hope that material doesn't crease though - it'll be on the floor in a couple of hours if I have anything to do with it. You look... beyond stunning..."

In reply, Hermione leaned back slightly and reached up to adjust his bowtie. He'd checked it before he'd left the dungeons, and knew it was perfectly straight already. He could feel the warmth radiating from her hands near his throat. Chatter from a nearby staircase disturbed the moment however, and he pushed open the main entrance door, holding it open for Hermione as she ducked under his arm and out into the chill evening.

"Shame you're not wearing your cloak - it's a bit fresh out tonight, I could have borrowed it!" she laughed, rubbing at her bare arms.

"Are you a witch, or not?" Snape gave her a withering glare, and withdrew his wand from inside his jacket. "_Infervesco_!"

Hermione felt a pleasant wave of heat wash over her as he performed the Warming Charm.

"Oh! Thanks!"

She gave him a lopsided grin, slightly embarrassed.

"My wand's somewhere in the bottom of my bag," she admitted. Seeing his mildly disapproving glare, she looked herself up and down and added, laughing, "Well, I don't exactly have anywhere _else_ to keep it!"

Seeing the way the dress clung flatteringly to her every curve, Severus could see her point. The garment barely managed to conceal its wearer, never mind any of her belongings, and particularly not something that was almost eleven inches long.

"I can keep it if you like?" he said, gesturing with his chin in the direction of his chest. "With mine?"

She held out the opening of the bag to him and he Summoned her wand.

"Accio!"

It flew into his hand and he stashed them both away in the inside pocket of his tuxedo. Her own wand was rather more organically stylish than his own, he noted. Pale and elegant, like the witch it belonged to, the meandering vine pattern wound most of the way down the shaft. It didn't have the same feel as his own of course, but it had its appeal.

Stepping through the school gates, Snape took her hand and turned on the spot. A second later they appeared in Muggle London, down a gloomy side-alley. Making their way out onto the pavement, Hermione beamed upon recognising where they were.

"Oh, Shaftesbury Avenue! I haven't been here for ages!"

They strolled arm-in-arm for a brief minute or two, before arriving outside a brightly-lit restaurant. 'The Tavern', proclaimed the sign outside.

"Shall we?"

Snape waved a hand towards the door, ushering her inside.

* * *

A number of heads turned as they entered the restaurant. Even out of his robes, Severus still cut an imposing figure in a black tux, with his long hair and striking features, although he was pleased to see that most of the attention was on Hermione - she was indeed, a most beautiful witch. And she was here with _him_. He was probably too old to be gloating like a smug schoolboy, but he did it anyway.

Two glasses of champagne arrived promptly at their table, and they chatted together across the candle flame.

"How's Professor McGonagall? I haven't seen her for a while - is she still busy trying to sort out the post-war regulatory issues with the Ministry?

"Yes, I believe so. Fortunately Shacklebolt is proving himself to be rather more competent than his recent predecessors, so she shouldn't have too much of a problem, especially given his membership in the Order of the Phoenix. He's predisposed towards allowing Hogwarts free reign when it comes to governing itself, more or less. But let's not talk 'shop' tonight, shall we? Happy birthday, Hermione." Snape raised his glass to her, and took a sip.

"Thank you."

"Ah, well, it's not every day a young wi-... a young _lady_ turns nineteen now, is it?" He caught himself, aware of the proximity of the other patrons, and the potential for Muggles to overhear them. Sure enough, just then the waiter arrived with menus. He handed Hermione hers politely, then thrust one in Snape's direction slightly more sharply. When he had gone, Severus let out a low snort. "He probably thinks I'm your father. Or that I'm more suited to that role, in any point."

"Yes, well, he hasn't seen you in bed with me in the dungeons, has he?" Hermione teased under her breath, not in the slightest bit fazed about people's opinions on the odd pair and their noticeable age-gap. "There's nothing remotely fatherly about you then, trust me!"

She ran her foot up the side of his leg under the table seductively. In the wizarding world - had they not both been rather famous, of course - their relationship would have gone largely unremarked upon. Dumbledore had reached the grand old age of one hundred and fifteen, and wouldn't have been remotely nearing the end of his natural life had he not encountered Marvolo Gaunt's cursed ring and been a complete pillock about handling it.

When witches and wizards routinely lived to two hundred years old, it was highly unlikely that you'd meet a life partner who was within just a couple of years of your own age, barring an enduring school romance, and once you'd attained adulthood there was precious little difference either physically or socially between a person who was twenty years old and somebody pushing fifty or sixty anyway. In the Muggle world however, where eighty was good going, he had to admit it was probably rather more conspicuous.

"Good job he doesn't know I'm your professor as well," he smirked, "Otherwise I'd have to use a charm to check for spit in my dinner..."

With difficulty, Snape managed to retain an air of civility about him while dealing with their waiter, and their meal arrived soon after. Severus had refused a pudding, with the excuse of not having a sweet tooth, but when Hermione's chocolate dessert had arrived she had been unable to put up with him watching her eat after a couple of minutes.

"Here - it's nice, try it!"

Cutting off a piece with her spoon, she passed it across the table towards him. Leaning forward to meet her, not taking his eyes from hers for a second, he parted his lips tentatively and let her feed him a mouthful.

"Very nice..." he said, still gazing at her intently. Towards the end of the meal, they finished off their second bottle of champagne, and were discreetly discussing an article they'd both recently read in _Transfiguration Today_, on Cross-Species Switches. Conceding to Hermione that her thoughts on the matter had merit, he smiled affectionately at her. "Well, this beats Flobberworm fritters served up by house-elves, doesn't it?" He stretched back languidly in his chair, crossing one long leg over another.

"It's been a lovely evening, thank you Severus. The best birthday ever. Certainly better than last year! I mean, I like camping as much as the next person, but..."

They shared a look through which passed a moment of sober understanding. The events of the previous year had taken their toll on both of them, although much of the time they both used their own personal brands of humour to mask and deflect some of the emotional pain they had to deal with. Suddenly remembering something, Snape broke their reverie to tell her about an owl he'd received the other day.

"The Ministry have set a date for the Order of Merlin presentations, by the way. I'm sure you'll get an owl from them anyway in due course, but I've let Minerva know you won't be in classes that day. It's not for a while - Tuesday, the tenth of November. Mind you, given how many of the staff and students are probably shortlisted for some sort of medal after the Battle, I expect it'd be easier just to call it an inset day and be done with it - there won't be enough professors to run the lessons! I hear Horace is even in the running for a Third Class award, so I won't be able to draft him in to cover for me either."

Meal finished, they reluctantly pried themselves from their seats, and left the restaurant. Hermione had given Severus a little help with the Muggle currency when settling the bill - the wizard had exchanged some Galleons at Gringotts earlier in the day when they'd been to Diagon Alley, but being a half-blood living mostly in the magical world, he had precious little idea about the going rate for things in pounds. Not wanting any useless Muggle coins back as change, his payment had left a generous tip, which at least seemed to finally make their waiter warm up to him and the young man held the door courteously for the pair as they made their way back out into the cold night air. Not wanting to return to the school just yet, they took a walk down to St James's Park and sat on a bench, watching the nightlife around them.

"They have no idea," murmured Hermione, watching the Muggles passing by. "No idea what fate they almost had..."

"Just as well," Severus's voice rumbled next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, although he'd already cast another Warming Charm to protect her from the chill. "Knowing wouldn't have done them any good. And besides, they had the wizarding world's finest team on the case." His lips twitched in amusement, and he leaned up against her on the bench, holding her close. After a short while, he craned his neck down towards her and asked, "Shall we...?"

Hermione reluctantly got up from her position leaning over against his chest, and moving behind a large tree away from any streetlamps, they checked no-one was around to see them before Disapparating.

* * *

"Severus? Where _are_ we...?" Clearly they had not arrived in Scotland, but she couldn't believe he lacked either the ability or the precision to take them back to Hogwarts, champagne consumption notwithstanding. Hermione looked around at the cobbled streets and rows of grimy houses, and came to a conclusion just as he answered.

"Cokeworth."

"Your home?"

"In a manner of speaking. I suppose I'd consider Hogwarts to be my real home, however I do own a residence here. My parents left it to me. I know I haven't brought you here before... It's... not much."

She could tell that it hurt his pride to bring her somewhere like this. Clearly old habits died hard - she hoped he should never feel the need to explain himself to her, or to conceal things from her. On the short walk to the end-of-terrace, Hermione could feel his gaze burning into the top of her head - checking for her reaction. As if she would ever judge him, or anyone, for the circumstances of their birth!

Unlocking the shabby front door with his wand, they stepped through straight into a living room. Hermione's jaw dropped slightly, not because of the state of the place or the décor, but the fact that every available wall seemed to be crammed with books, almost from floor to ceiling. Big books, small books, tomes three or four inches thick... There must have been thousands; all bound in dark, faded, green, blue, black leather; most of the spines unreadable. The room smelled like a cross between a library and a museum... and she was in heaven! Turning to him, she beamed.

"Why on _Earth_ haven't you brought me here before?!" She poked him playfully in the ribs with a finger. Snape still had his head cocked fractionally, observing her reaction before saying anything. "It's amazing!"

"You think so? Like I said, it's not much really. I've obviously been in the position to develop something of a collection while working at the castle though." He rolled his eyes - Hermione had crossed to the nearest shelf and was already scrutinising the titles.

"I think you could give Madam Pince a run for her money with all this lot!" she laughed, still scanning the books in wonderment.

"Hmm... I do have some rather rare titles. They don't all belong in the Restricted Section either, there's all sorts. Potions, naturally. Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Herbology..."

"And there's me thinking you just had five thousand copies of _How to Woo Witches_!" she said teasingly.

"Oh, I keep _those_ upstairs, for a bit of light bedtime reading..." he shot back, quick as a flash, maintaining an expression of utter seriousness.

"I can tell," Hermione turned back to him, tearing her attention away from the informal library, "You had me at '_dunderhead'_."

With two quick steps across the threadbare rug towards her, Snape took a hold of her arms. Jabbing his wand at an old gramophone in the corner of the room, a sultry jazz ballad started to play. Placing a hand on her waist and taking her own hand in the other, he began to sway gently with her in his arms.

'_You think you're quite the wizard, got me under your spell..._' crooned the gramophone. Hermione stared up into Severus's dark eyes. His expression was still neutral, however she could read something indeterminable in them that conveyed deep emotion hidden beneath the mask. She placed her free hand on his chest, her fingers tracing along the collar of his jacket, and swayed with him as the song continued, _'You stole my cauldron, my favourite black hat, purloined my owl, then flew off like a vampire bat...'_

"I never knew you could dance?" she said softly. "I wish I'd been partnered with you at the Yule Ball - you'd probably have trodden on my feet a lot less than Viktor Krum!"

Hermione leant into him and rested her head against his shoulder as they slow-danced. He could feel her hair tickling his chin, but it wasn't unpleasant.

"I think that would have tested even Albus's legendary permissiveness, my dear," he replied. "I'd have found myself suddenly unemployed, I fear, had I behaved in any way intimately towards you while you were still underage. And rightly so. Although perhaps the old man might have overlooked it, given my usefulness to him..."

"Ron danced with Professor McGonagall!" Hermione let out a laugh. Snape glanced down at her in startled bemusement. "Not at the Ball itself, but when she was giving us dance lessons beforehand." Just as suddenly, she whipped her head up to stare at him. "Did you not teach the Slytherins then? I assumed all the Heads of Houses took classes with their own students."

"Can you imagine anybody else in your year, who would have ever wished to have had my hand on their waist? Even from my own house?" He eyed her dryly. "No, I did not. I'm afraid my Slytherins had to use their resourcefulness in order to avoid looking foolish at the dance. We had no Champions representing us, anyway."

Hermione nestled her head back against his warm body, and involuntarily let out a small yawn. Moving his hand up from her waist to caress her lower back through the thin material of her dress, he stilled their movement across the floor.

"You're tired. We've had a busy day. Plus the champagne... Let's not Apparate back to Scotland tonight? If you don't mind, we can stay here."

"Mmm, yes I'm feeling a little weary. Is it-...? Are you prepared for guests to stay over here? I can't imagine you've been able to spend much time here lately - it must stand empty much of the time?"

"It does. And there's not much to prepare. I have clean sheets - you'll just have to put up with the general state of disrepair I'm afraid. There's running water, and electricity, although I'm afraid I'm rather out of the habit of using it. The electric, I mean. I'm not the sort of wizard to leave piles of underwear all over the bedroom floor, so I think you'll find the conditions acceptable. It's not Hogwarts, but it should suffice."

He could feel the heat of her skin through his shirt.

"Severus, you dolt - I don't mind if the wallpaper peels a bit, or if I have to go and pee in an outhouse," He opened his mouth to tell her that, actually, there was perfectly adequate indoor plumbing, thank you very much, but she cut him off, continuing, "You're here. It's got a roof, four walls, and more books than I can count. For me, this is better than the Hilton- A very posh hotel..." she elaborated.

"That settles it then," he said, taking her arm gently and leading her towards the wall. Without saying anything, a concealed door swung open revealing a staircase that went to the first floor. Climbing it together, they entered a small, dingy bedroom. A lamp on the dresser flared to life, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed and fidgeted. Snape shucked off his shoes and trousers, before undoing his bowtie and pulling it free from his collar.

She sat and watched while he undressed, not leering at him, merely observing his movements. When he'd slipped out of his shirt, he approached her and she stood automatically, slipping off her heels so his majestic height became even more apparent. Maintaining eye contact with her, he reached down to grab hold of her dress on both sides, pulling it up and over her head. She was not wearing a bra, and crossed her arms over her chest coyly, feeling unreasonably exposed, although she knew he had seen it all before. He then stepped away from her, drawing back the bedspread on the mattress and gesturing to her to get in. When they were both under the covers he scooted closer to her, face to face, until their noses were almost touching. She could feel his warm breath on her face, and the faint aroma of alcohol radiating from him sent an erotic shiver down her spine. Still both in their underwear, their legs intertwined, he brought a hand up out from under the blanket to run his fingers through her hair, brushing the golden curls away from her face.

"Happy birthday, Hermione."

"Thank you, Severus. It's been lovely. I've had a lovely day."

He wrapped a lithe arm around her and they lay there together, each listening to the sound of the other's breathing. The dim light threw deep shadows across his features, and she was momentarily reminded of how sallow and drawn he'd looked when he'd been promoted to headmaster. She snaked her own arm underneath his, and brought it up to lightly caress the scars that marred his neck and chest. He didn't flinch, remaining impassive at her touch. She hoped he knew that they didn't bother her - that actually, she saw them as a mark of his bravery, and seeing them only made her adore him more. In the time following his recovery, he'd never really given any indication that they bothered _him_, but then again she knew how legendary his skills at bottling things up could be.

If either of them had had any ideas of romance that evening, they went by the wayside. Hermione woke in the small hours, her head still resting up against Severus's chest; his leg over hers. Blinking away any remaining fatigue, she opened her eyes and saw it was still dark out. Although she hadn't moved a muscle, she could tell that he had awoken too.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Good morning."

Snape inhaled and released a long, slow breath through his nose. He lifted one hand under the covers and draped it over her, absent-mindedly running his fingers up and down the bare skin of her arm.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thanks. I think I had a better night than in the four-posters at Hogwarts actually. Although, that might be because of the company..."

"You've stayed the night in the dungeons with me before...?"

"Yes, well... We've usually not... gone to sleep that early..." Hermione said, tactfully.

"Ah, you're complaining that I take advantage of you, is that it?" His lip twitched and curled slightly in amusement.

"Oh Merlin's pants, no!" She grinned back at him, "You can take advantage of me any time you like, you know? I just need a lie-in afterwards, that's all!"

"Well..." He stared thoughtfully at her, "I let you sleep last night... unmolested... You must not need a lie-in this morning, having gone to bed earlier?"

The hand stroking her arm meandered its way lower and lower, until he was running his fingers over her thigh. Hermione squirmed under his touch in anticipation.

"No, I think I'm done sleeping this morning..." she replied, breathlessly.

"Good. I like to rise early."

As he shifted in the bed, Hermione could tell that something else had risen early that morning as well, and it was pressed up against her leg. He smirked at her, unabashed.

"Well, you can hardly blame a wizard, can you, when you go around wearing next to nothing at dinner, and then wake him up with nothing on?"

"You liked the dress then?"

"It looks better on the floor..." He cast a glance over her shoulder to where it had been discarded the previous evening.

"Very droll. I-"

His hand had continued wandering, and she realised that he was not the only one feeling a bit horny right about now.

"Turn over."

Following his instruction, she rolled over in place and he shuffled forward so that his chest was pressed right up against her back. Severus propped himself up with one elbow on the pillow to play teasingly with her hair, while his other hand roamed below her waist. He kissed the back of her neck, making her shiver in delight. Once sure that she was sufficiently ready for him, he carefully lined himself up and pushed into her slowly. He would never get used to how it felt making love to Hermione; every time felt as amazing as the first, and it took his breath away.

"Mmm,"

Her low moan electrified him, and she ground her arse back into him, enjoying the sensation of his wiry body flush against hers. Snape started to thrust slowly in and out, pushing her top leg forward with his own so he could get a better angle. It was Sunday - no-one was expecting them back at the school today so they could take their time, and he was going to make the most of it. Every fibre of his being screamed at him to just pin her down and take her, hard, but he had long practiced his self-control and was by and large able to ignore his baser instincts for long-term gain.

Hermione thought this had to be one of the better ways to wake up, especially the day after one's birthday. Feeling him fill her perfectly, over and over, and touching her in all the right places, she couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be right now. When he reached a hand around to stroke her in time with his thrusts, she clutched at the sheets and pillows, trying desperately to resist, but it was no use. Severus started to pick up speed and with a cry, she came hard. He managed to hold on for another minute or so, and then he too climaxed, thrusting deep into her the last couple of times before relaxing, exhausted.

The sun was now creeping in past the thin curtains, slivers of daylight illuminating the pair. They lay together spooning, until dawn had well and truly broken. Eventually they broke their embrace, and Hermione turned back over to look at him. Maybe it was just her imagination, but he appeared more youthful than ever these days. He had lost that stringy, pallid look, and his cheeks bore a slightly healthier complexion. Although maybe that was just temporary, due to his exertion giving her a good shagging just now. She ran her fingers through his hair - still enchantingly long and regal-looking - and played dreamily with a few wayward strands.

"I'm going to struggle to top this for your birthday you know?" she teased.

"Oh, a repeat of this will do fine," he answered, "Maybe without all that shopping and restaurant nonsense..."

"I love you." Hermione knew he didn't begrudge indulging her really.

"I know."

She wouldn't make him say it. Such affectionate things didn't trip naturally off his tongue, even now, so when he did come out with them it made it all the more precious to her. She took hold of his hand in acknowledgement of words left unsaid, interlocking her fingers with his as they lay there together, basking in the afterglow of their intimacy.

* * *

***Unlike Ms Rowling, and her **_**legendarily**_** bad maths, I actually checked the date for her birthday that year, and it would really have been a Saturday ;)**

**The bit about the Yule Ball classes amused me, and was inspired by a meme I saw on the Severus Snape Fan Club group on Facebook, postulating that if Minerva taught the Gryffindors, then Snape must have given lessons to the Slytherins! "Put... your hand... on my ... waist." Unfortunately I lack the imagination to create a credible scene conveying that LOL, but the mention of it couldn't go amiss.**


	29. Why Don't You Get A Job?

**A/N: So y'all have Swaryc to thank for me finally getting off my ass and updating this by the way - the power of the review! Not to discount anyone else who's left feedback but I guess the last one was the review that broke the camel's back, if you like.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Why Don't You Get A Job**

After another repeat of their waking sex session, Hermione and Severus eventually managed to drag themselves out of bed and downstairs to scrape together some breakfast. He might have relied almost entirely upon the house-elves to feed him when at the school, but never let it be said she thought, that Severus Snape couldn't knock up a decent bacon and eggs when required.

Fed, showered - together, then separately again - and dressed, they took the Floo back to Snape's quarters in the dungeons. He explained that Spinner's End had never been connected to the Floo network while his parents had owned it, due to his father's enduring Muggleness and hatred of all things magical, but the professor had had the Ministry hook the fireplace up to the network when he had taken over ownership.

She'd had to put back on her dress from the previous evening to return to Hogwarts, so Hermione had been quite glad that they hadn't had to Apparate and take the walk of shame back up to the castle in last night's clothes, in front of the whole school. Snape hadn't bothered to put his entire outfit back on, but was just in trousers and shirt sleeves, which were rolled up almost to his elbows, and his shirt neck was open at the top - his bowtie was probably stuffed into a pocket somewhere.

He'd been keen to show her an article in _The Practical Potioneer_ that he'd read recently, and after hunting through a stack of various quarterlies and digests on his desk, he'd extracted the paper from the pile and they'd sat together on the sofa while he read it to her. Seeing him so utterly engrossed in academic pursuit, she wondered how she'd ever found him scary. His dark eyes, which had often appeared so cold, now glittered with enthusiasm. His deep, measured voice, instead of sneering threats, now lulled her with its smoothness.

On the Monday she was back in classes again, although Professor Binns wasn't quite so mesmerising to listen to as Severus.

In the corridor as she was moving between Ancient Runes and Potions lessons, stopped in a gloomy alcove to tie her shoelace, she overheard a couple of fifth-year students talking together.

"... I saw them together by the Great Hall the other night - looked like they were going out on a _date_!"

"Eww, can you imagine having to go out with _him_?! She's probably only doing it to get good NEWT grades, I bet she'll drop him in a flash come July - he must be an idiot if he thinks a witch like that would ever be interested in a dirty old wizard like him! I didn't think he could get any uglier, until that bloody snake took a chunk out of him."

With a start, she realised the Ravenclaws were talking about her and Severus.

"He's still a jerk - I thought maybe since the war ended he'd loosen up a little, you know? Maybe he needs Granger to give him a good shag!" They laughed.

"Urgh, I can't blame her for not wanting to go _there_, can you?! Gross! It must be bad enough having to hold his hand, the greasy git. Bet that pervert's been grooming her ever since she started at Hogwarts..."

"_Actually_..." Her blood ran cold on the fifth-years' behalf, as a silky voice dripping with menace came from around the corner, interrupting them, "... I think you'll find that my personal life is none of your business... Thirty points from Ravenclaw. Each."

The boy and girl went rigid in alarm, then flushed furiously as they realised they'd been overheard by the very subject of their gossiping.

"Well...?" Snape enquired, pointedly. "Don't you both have... _somewhere_... to be?"

Taking that as a cue that they were being dismissed, the two students hurriedly turned and dashed down the corridor, away from the swooping professor.

"They don't know what they're talking about," he said out loud. Clearly he'd noticed Hermione sequestered in the alcove.

"I know," she said, emerging from the shadows. "I've been teased worse than that to my face, you know. Sometimes by you." She offered him an embarrassed smile. "We knew some people wouldn't like it, but that's their problem."

"Truly the brightest witch of your age." He glided across the last couple of yards to her and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. "There. Let them gossip about that, too." Taking a pocketwatch out of his coat and glancing at it, he continued, "Don't you have Potions now? You shouldn't be late - I hear the professor's an utter git..."

She chuckled at him and they continued to the Potions laboratory together. All eyes were on Snape as he strode down the aisle between the desks to the front and immediately started flicking instructions onto the chalkboard with his wand. He was such an imposing figure that nobody commented on - or seemed to notice - the fact that he'd arrived with Hermione.

As well as spending time with Ginny, Hermione had also become good friends with Luna Lovegood. They had become better acquainted through Dumbledore's Army a few years previously, but the Battle of Hogwarts had really brought the survivors closer together, and she was pleased to have a familiar face still in her classes.

The younger girl was seemingly no less scatty than before the war, but her eyes belied a deeper understanding of life than Hermione had previously thought her capable of, and she had grown to find the Ravenclaw's quirkiness oddly endearing. It was a sign that some things would always remain reassuringly constant in the wizarding world. She'd even forgiven Xenophilius Lovegood for trying to turn them over to Voldemort's Death Eaters in exchange for his daughter. Luna was a rare pure soul. Hermione knew that Severus still found her exasperating however, and had made him promise not to treat her harshly in class.

Word seemed to have gotten around amongst the students about the reason behind Ravenclaw's rather large loss of points, and consequently Hermione had heard no more whispers about her choice of partner. A few people here and there gave her the odd lingering glance, but she'd dealt with far worse in her time.

* * *

Halloween arrived at Hogwarts and was, as always, a jolly celebration. The Great Hall was decked out in pumpkins and cobwebs, and filled with swarms of live bats which dived and swooped from the ceiling, slaloming through an obstacle course of floating candles as they went.

Looking up towards the High Table where the professors sat, Hermione felt a pang at not being able to sit with her own dungeon bat. Whether aware of her attention on him or just coincidentally, he looked down towards her at the Gryffindor table and gave her a miniscule curt nod of his head. Such a funny man - she'd spent whole days lying in his lap reading, and yet in public sometimes she might as well have been the owl who delivered his _Daily Prophet_, for all the warmth he showed her.

She tilted her glass of pumpkin juice towards him in acknowledgement, and resumed her conversation with Ginny and the other Gryffindors. Albus Dumbledore was still a greatly missed figure at the school, especially on occasions such as this, when he would often give amusing but insightful speeches. Professor McGonagall was a very accomplished and respected witch of course, but it wasn't quite the same without the Headmaster's twinkling blue eyes darting over his charges.

* * *

The Headmistress had indeed decided to cancel classes for the day of the Ministry award ceremony. Hermione thought Snape might have gotten his tuxedo out again, however he turned up in his usual frock coat and robes. They had Flooed to the Ministry Atrium and met with a sizable number of other witches and wizards who were on the honours list, most of whom they knew personally, if only in passing.

Seeing a tall redhead in the throng of people coming and going, Hermione made her way towards her friend, with Snape slinking along in her wake, trying not to look too enthusiastic about being there.

"Ron!"

Hermione greeted him with a friendly hug, then retreated. They'd made up somewhat since their set-to at the Leaky Cauldron in the summer. Harry and Ginny had facilitated communications, and Ron and Hermione had exchanged the occasional owl directly as well, with news of each other's work and study lives. He had seemed to have either come around to the idea of Hermione's new beau, or at least given up on the idea of protesting.

As Hermione stepped back, the Potions master took a step forward into line with her, not trying to look intimidating, but doing so anyway.

"Professor." Weasley nodded at him in awkward greeting.

"Not anymore." Snape replied dryly. "Not yours, at any rate. It's clear to see you've not improved your skills at brewing a Wit-Sharpening Potion since you were in my class."

Next to him, Hermione tried not to cringe. You could take the Potions master out of the classroom...

"Oh. Um... Yeah. What should we call you then?"

To his credit, the trainee Auror didn't seem too taken aback by Snape's criticism. Perhaps seeing the Potions master so near to death had had an effect of demystifying him to Ron as well.

"'Snape' will do fine." Frankly he didn't care whether they acted respectfully towards him or not these days. "Your friend Potter never seemed to have much trouble addressing me as such, even when he _was_ still my student."

At the mention of his name, an unruly mop of black hair materialised in the crowd and made its way towards them. Pushing his way through a pair of witches in bright orange robes, Harry beamed amiably around at everyone - even Snape, although Hermione thought that might be mostly bravado.

"Hi guys, sorry I'm late! Got held up in the office, Kingsley needed some last-minute paperwork. I wish Tonks had warned me how much of being an Auror would involve being sat at a desk!" He ran a hand through his hair, which had the effect of making it slightly more untidy, if that were possible, and pushed his slipping glasses back up his nose.

Despite his complaints, Hermione knew that Harry was relishing his employment at the Ministry. Anyone else might have been pleased to take a backseat and let other people mop up the dregs of the fight against Voldemort but to his credit, he was keen to get back out there and put himself in the thick of things once more. Ginny had on occasions tried to reason with him to take a less hazardous role at the Ministry, however Harry had countered with the fact that his girlfriend was aiming for a career playing Quidditch professionally, and would therefore be putting herself at an almost equal level of danger on a daily basis.

Hermione was incensed to spot Lucius Malfoy in the throng at one point, although there was no sign of Draco. Clearly one of the Malfoys had a shred of decency after all!

"He's lucky he's not still in Azkaban," she muttered under her breath to her companions. "I can't believe Shacklebolt agreed to pardon him and Narcissa - did you know that little weasel tried to protest Severus's award? He argued that Sev was really working for Voldemort all along, can you believe the cheek of the man?!"

She slipped her arm protectively through Snape's, whose eye had twitched slightly at her use of his pet name in front of her friends. Harry and Ron were shooting glares in Malfoy Snr's direction, although the aristocratic wizard was either too busy schmoozing with people, or was purposefully ignoring Potter and friends despite the fact that to everyone else, the three teenagers were something of the 'main attraction' at the award ceremony.

After the ceremony, they all milled around bearing their gold medals, catching up with various people they knew and spotted amongst the other recipients. Kingsley had kept it a low-key affair, but Hermione knew that his presentation was more heartfelt than it would have been coming from any of the other Ministers they had encountered over the years. She had great hope that Minister Shacklebolt would be a breath of fresh air for the wizarding world.

Hermione had never previously considered a career in the Ministry of Magic, given the rather awful experiences she'd had with the organisation in the past, however as the end of her studies drew nearer she could maybe see potential there. After all, even if it was still in need of modernisation, where better to influence the Ministry, than from the inside? Her only other sensible option seemed to be teaching, which although sorely tempting, made her wonder if perhaps it might be better for her not to spend any more years in the same institution as Severus, in order to quell any remaining public upset about their involvement.

* * *

Christmas drew near, and the couple had been invited to the Burrow by Molly Weasley. Hermione had accepted gratefully - her parents were still sunning themselves in Australia, and while she would pay them a visit, she welcomed spending more time in a family environment. Severus however, had not been quite so enthusiastic, but she had coaxed/cajoled/threatened him into attending with her. He didn't have a great deal of interaction with anyone, but she noticed he indulged in plenty of people-watching, observing the hubbub around him, and she smiled to herself as she thought he secretly did prefer being here to sitting alone at Spinner's End in the gloom.

"Severus looks well?" Hermione smiled at Ginny. Her friend had been superbly accepting of her relationship with the stern Potions master, and she was grateful. She cast a quick eye over to the corner, where Snape was pretending not to listen to a joke George was telling to the room.

"Yes, he's made a remarkable recovery - the Healers at St Mungo's are really pleased with him. He's had his last check-up now, but he seems fully back to normal. As it were..."

"You won't be carting him off to St Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards any time soon then?" The redhead shot her a wink. Hermione laughed and winked back at her conspiratorially.

"No, I think he'll do for the moment. Ask me again in seventy years!"

Several times during their stay with the Weasleys, Hermione had found Severus deep in conversation with Arthur. Mr Weasley's current obsession was hovercraft, which he found ingenious, given that Muggles weren't capable of charming them to float. She overheard a part of their chatter where Severus was patiently trying to describe to him the concept of air pressure and lift, which seemed to have rendered Arthur speechless in wonder. Hermione thought she would have been fascinated to listen to Severus talk about anything, even hovercraft, although admittedly she was a tad biased. Some evenings at Hogwarts he would read to her: pieces from arcane magical texts, or just a particularly interesting article in the _Prophet_. His smooth, deep voice was entrancing to listen to, and she often found herself having to ask him to repeat bits, where he'd lulled her into a lazy stupor.

She'd worried Snape might find it a little difficult to adjust to a life post-war in the wizarding world, but if anything he seemed to be relishing his newfound freedom, and to be quietly grateful for his narrow escape. Fundamentally he was still the same man she'd always known, so far as they'd been able to get to know him during their earlier years at Hogwarts. Privately she thought he might have become a little institutionalised, having spent the vast majority of his life there, both man and boy, however he seemed content to continue in the life he'd always known. Although without having to spend time on double espionage duty, he was now able to devote himself more to reading the many books he'd accumulated in his quarters and at Spinner's End.

* * *

One weekend, she'd arrived at his rooms to find him hunched over his desk intently scrutinising a large leather-bound book, hair falling over his face, muttering under his breath and practising complicated-looking wand motions she wasn't familiar with. She wondered if he was creating something entirely new, and shot him a warm, unseen smile in admiration. Patting him lightly on the shoulder in hello, he grunted in acknowledgement, swept a rogue bit of hair out of his eyes with a rough hand, and hunkered back down over his book again with renewed fervour.

Lying in bed with him later on, Hermione stroked lazy circles through Severus's dark chest hair with a finger.

"You seem... pensive..." he murmured to her. "Something on your mind?"

Hermione leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"Just thinking about NEWTs coming up, that's all. I have so much to revise."

"I shouldn't worry about it, you would have been more than capable of passing them last year had you sat them, even without taking your seventh year." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head in return.

"Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you. I'm sure I'll be fine, it's more what comes _after_ that I suppose. Ron keeps asking me if I'm going to join the Ministry, but I really don't think a career as an Auror is the thing for me."

"There are plenty of other roles in the Ministry that would suit you I'm sure, and you would be a great asset to them wherever you were, my dear. Are you-... Did you say you had plans to meet Weasley for his birthday?" Now it was his turn to appear brooding.

"Yes, well remembered! I'm just meeting him and Harry and Ginny I think, in London. Probably just a quick drink at the Leaky Cauldron or something. Is that okay?"

Severus didn't reply immediately. When he did, she sensed he was concealing something.

"Yes, of course. I'm not your keeper, you're quite at liberty to see your friends whenever you like."

"And...?" she prompted. He raised an eyebrow at her, and sighed.

"And... I was thinking he might be able to convince you of the attractions of a government career. Get you beyond the walls of Hogwarts for a change, spend some time in the outside world. Spend some time away from me..." He trailed off.

"And why would I want to do that?" she demanded, rolling over to regard him, suddenly serious. "Are you having second thoughts about us?" Just as she was about to avert her eyes, his suddenly whipped up to meet her gaze.

"No. Of course not, not at all. No. I was just... I wondered if, perhaps, now there's more of a cosmopolitan life awaiting you in the near future... if you might be eager to make new experiences. Without the burden of having an old man waiting for you back at the castle." He quirked an awkward smile at her, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Oh, not this again," she retorted, peppering his chest with affectionate kisses. "Is this since your birthday? Thirty-nine is not old you know - I wish you didn't have such a complex about it. If anything, it's me that should be worried about you looking for someone older: someone more sophisticated, more worldly."

"Never." Snape pulled her close with a wiry arm. "You are every bit as engaging as any other witch I've ever met. Even more so. I merely don't wish to deny you all the normal experiences that witches of your age have. And I know Weasley still has his eye on you, despite your protests to the contrary. I can't say I blame the boy, even if he does have the intelligence of a teaspoon and would make the most unsatisfactory partner for you."

"You say the _sweetest_ things, Severus," Hermione laughed at him, slipping a bare leg over his and snuggling up close to him. "I don't want to run off with Ronald though, thanks. If it makes you feel better, I'm not sure how much longer he's going to stay at the Ministry to be honest - Harry tells me he's having second thoughts about being an Auror, and George is making noises about needing an extra set of hands in the shop permanently."

"Ah, they might have a vacancy in the Auror department as well then?" Severus asked.

"Why? Are you actually looking for a career change finally?" she teased. "I thought you were going to live and die here at Hogwarts!" Belatedly she realised that was maybe a little tactless, given how close he'd come to _actually_ dying there the previous year, but he seemed to neither notice nor care about her slip-up. She supposed most people who attended Hogwarts had had narrow escapes from death over the years and not necessarily due to Voldemort, although Severus seemed unluckier than most with at least three near-deadly escapes from magical beasts over the years that she could count. "I think your skills would be really appreciated at the Ministry," she continued. "Harry says they're always on the lookout for new talent."

Hermione wondered how the pair would get on if they worked in the same department. It was one thing to be quietly accepting of each other at official functions, it was quite another to share office space and bump into each other Flooing to work every morning. For all Severus's abilities, small-talk was still not a forte of his, and the spectre of Lily Evans, while no longer something that tormented Severus from day to day, was still an undoubted point of awkwardness between the pair.

"Well, I'll think about it, perhaps." He placed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I might have just had a particularly testing week this week - there have been more than the usual share of idiots blowing up their cauldrons lately, I'm sure it's just that that has me pondering a change of career. Having said that, maybe a change of scene might do me good. Getting out into the wider world might be beneficial for me too. Certainly more mentally stimulating than cleaning up frog brains and dictating notes on a daily basis. We can discuss it another time - we should really get some sleep tonight, I know you have a long day's studying planned for tomorrow."

"Mmfh," she murmured into his chest. "M'not sleepy..." Severus wrapped an arm over her gently, stroking her arm. In less than a minute he could hear her breathing change, and knew she had been lying. Lips quirking in an amused smile, he felt a pang of affection for the tender witch who still tried to project an outward impression of toughness, before twisting to blow out the candle on the bedside table, and he too followed her into unconsciousness.

* * *

**A/N: So this is the penultimate chapter, just one to go! I'll almost certainly never write something of this length again - it's been a labour of love and a complete pain in the arse at the same time lol.**


	30. You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

**Chapter Thirty: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid**

Quite unsurprisingly to everybody other than herself, and despite her protests that she _knew_ she'd done terribly, Hermione received all 'O's in her NEWTs. She was pleased that she had done equally well in all seven of her subjects, not just because of the personal satisfaction at her achievements, but also because nobody could claim that she'd received a high grade in Potions due to the nature of her relationship with the subject teacher. If anyone had seen her and Severus together in private, they'd have realised that she wasn't receiving much in the way of special academic help anyway - their pursuits were often much more of the _physical_ persuasion. With no home of her own to go to after the end of term, she'd travelled with him to Spinner's End. He'd watched in respectful silence as an owl dropped off the envelope containing her results at the breakfast table, and allowed her to read through the parchment and digest the contents before enquiring.

"_Well_?" he asked simply. Hermione loved his understatedness. No excited pestering, no pressing her for details. He knew she'd not appreciate hysteria, and saw no need for it.

"Seven 'O's," she told him, smiling slightly shyly. Snape raised his glass of orange juice to her in a toast.

"Congratulations. Although I expected nothing else. I expect the Ministry will come knocking on your door now they've had to wait a year to get their hands on you."

As he spoke, another owl soared in through the window, clutching an envelope sealed with red wax. '_Miss H. Granger, 92 Spinner's End, Cokeworth_.' Turning it over, she saw the seal was stamped with three large letters: M.o.M.

"Talk of the devil," she chuckled wryly, "they've found me here already!"

Snape scowled. While he knew wizarding post was far more sophisticated than the Muggle version, he was still an intensely private man and disliked the fact that the authorities were aware of the girl's association with him. More for her sake than his, but he told himself he was being silly and that as it seemed their relationship would continue for the time being, there was no point being coy about it becoming public knowledge outside of Hogwarts, especially as Hermione was now no longer a student there.

"Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - I guess someone told the Ministry about S.P.E.W.! It would be nice to try and make the world a better place for all the beings out there that aren't currently seen as equal to wizards though..." He could see her eyes going all misty at the mere thought of bringing salvation to abused house-elves, and tried not to roll his own at the little bleeding-heart. Her unconditional compassion was mildly endearing he supposed, and in fact he owed his own life to it, so he decided not to give her a sarcastic retort. Severus Snape too, could demonstrate compassion on occasion. Finishing a last bite of toast and draining his glass, he stood and made his way past her, dropping a quick kiss onto the top of her head as he went.

"Sounds good. You should take them up on it. Plenty more opportunities in the Ministry if you find it's not your cup of tea after all, but at least it'll get your foot in the door. But how about you just make my world a better place this morning?" He smirked suggestively at her, sliding his plate into the sink and heading upstairs through the narrow door, glancing quickly backwards to see if she was following. With a sigh, Hermione smiled and rolled up the Ministry parchment, before making her way upstairs after him. He was waiting just inside the bedroom door, his dressing gown falling open and revealing a trail of dark hair running down from his chest to below his waist. Taking a step towards her, he slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her deeply.

"Well done," he murmured into her mouth. "I'm very proud of you. My insufferable little know-it-all..."

Hermione melted into his body, leaning against his warm, bare chest and returning the kiss, giggling and biting her lip in anticipation.

"Thanks, that's why I worked so hard you know. So you'd kiss me." He reached down and pinched her bum through her pyjama trousers.

"Oh, I'm going to do much more than that, Hermione..."

* * *

A few months into her job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione Granger was sat at her desk, furiously scribbling down a few notes about things she meant to ask someone from the spirit department next time she saw them, when the door creaked ajar.

"Hello," she called out, puzzled. Not many people visited her office - despite her reputation, as a junior member of staff, it was more often she who went traipsing to someone else. She heard someone clear their throat, clearly apprehensive about entering. She thought she recognised...

"Severus? Is that you?"

The door swung the rest of the way open and in he walked. Despite her familiarity with the tall wizard, for a moment Hermione almost didn't recognise him.

"Hi! Aren't you supposed to be at-... What are you-...? Severus?"

"Just thought I'd pop by, take you out for lunch. Is that such a surprise for me to treat you?" He cocked his head at her, almost daring her to contradict him, while avoiding her half-questions.

"Well, no but..." Hermione spluttered, swatting away a persistent interdepartmental memo that kept trying to catch her attention, while trying not to gawp at him. "Term's not finished yet, I thought you'd still be in Scotland for a week or so? Where are your _robes_?"

"Ah, yes. What do you think? A bit different I'll wager, but it was probably time for a change..." He shrugged as if he didn't care for her answer either way, but she could tell he was apprehensive.

Instead of his normal black on black frockcoat and billowing robes, Snape was instead wearing a fitted grey tunic jacket adorned with epaulettes and multiple pockets. On one of those pockets was embroidered a large letter 'M', which looked all-too-familiar. She'd seen Ron wearing a similar uniform on several occasions...

"Severus, are you-? Are you an _Auror_...?!"

Not often lost for words, Hermione blinked stupidly at him. They'd had no more discussion about him changing career since before she'd taken her NEWTs and she'd been under the impression he'd been content to remain at Hogwarts and teach.

"I told Minerva at the start of term, I thought it was high time I left the school. I stayed on long enough for her to interview for a replacement, and Horace can fill in for a bit if she needs him." He eyed himself up and down appraisingly. "I like the buttons. And the high collar hides my scar nicely."

Hermione finally collected herself enough to get up from her chair and come around the desk to him. Just as she reached him, she smacked him in the arm with a rolled up wodge of parchment.

"You never said!" Then she chucked the papers back onto the desk behind her and embraced him, reaching up for a lingering kiss, amusement and pride dancing in her eyes.

"I take it you approve...?" Snape murmured down at her, breaking away to catch his breath.

"You'll make a brilliant Auror, Severus, of course you will. And that uniform looks super sexy on you..." She winked at him suggestively, causing him to stoop to capture her lips once more. As the kiss turned more passionate, she slipped her hands down and around to his arse and took a firm hold.

At that moment, in the open office door, two more heads appeared: one jet black, one vibrant red.

"Oh. Uh, sorry Hermione. We'll just, uh..." Harry mumbled apologetically, flushing as he saw his best friend and Snape in their clinch.

"Urgh! Merlin's saggy bollocks Hermione, do you have to do that here?" Ron was only half-joking, a faint queasiness on his features. He was now resigned to his friend's unlikely paramour, but had never learned to shut his mouth and wasn't above poking good-naturedly at her about it whenever the feeling arose.

Hermione felt Snape freeze slightly at the untimely intrusion, but she lifted a hand to touch his arm in a reassuring gesture before reaching into her back pocket for her wand. Pointing it vaguely in the direction of her desk, she cast her spell. "Oppugno!"

Harry reacted just in time, reaching past his friend to pull the door shut with them on the outside, just as a swarm of drawing pins zipped angrily towards them and buried themselves deep in the wood.

Severus smirked down at her, amused. "You're a little scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant... but scary."

"That's why you love me," she shot back at him, not looking the slightest bit abashed.

"Undoubtedly. Now how about we get that lunch..."

* * *

**A/N: Aaand... I guess that's all folks! Off to go work on my 20 other WIPs now I can let this one rest in peace :)**

**Thanks all so much for everyone who has left/will leave a review, it's always great to hear people have enjoyed it in whatever way.**


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